


love lies bleeding

by smolsarcasticraspberry



Series: LLB-verse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bodyguard Shiro, F/M, Mutual Clueless Dorks, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, a princess and her knight, because HERE IT IS, berry stop writing random AUs challenge 2k18, how many tropes can i cram into this one story, oh hey did someone order a self-indulgent trope-fest?, shallura - Freeform, they are on the run, this story has a happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 211,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsarcasticraspberry/pseuds/smolsarcasticraspberry
Summary: Shiro is the captain of the royal guard of Altea, and sworn to protect the royal family. but when enemies attack the castle, Queen Fala gives him one final command with her dying breath: protect her daughter, Princess Allura, at all costs. as they flee into the wilderness, Shiro must find a way to keep Allura safe and help her restore her lost crown - or their entire kingdom will perish at the hands of the Galra.(this is the main fic in the 'LLB-verse' series, and the only long multi-chapter fic. the other fics in this series are all oneshots and extra drabbles etc, collected together for convenience of organisation)





	1. a lily in the moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> way back when i started this fic, i intended it simply as a place to self-indulge in all my favourite cliche romance tropes. mutual pining. painfully slow burn. a lady and her loyal knight, absolutely devoted to her safety. on the run together... huddling for warmth... all of it. everything. pretending to be married? of course. 'oh no there is only one bed' and so on, forever.
> 
> the story grew in the telling, however, and acquired a solid plot and lots of fun worldbuilding (cos i love that stuff too so... that's also self-indulgence) and it also gained a bunch of loyal readers, because apparently lots of people like self-indulgent tropey goodness? so then i just rolled with it, and now here we are. it's long and it's full of all the best tropes i could find to cram in there and it's got fluff and angst and pining and lovestruck dorks not being able to admit they like each other. it's got the lot. just... enjoy. i certainly am.
> 
> also: in this story Shiro is 'pre-Kerberos' i.e. he doesn't have his scar/white hair/prosthetic arm. yet.

The first time Shiro touches her is the day her father dies.

He is on patrol on the castle wall when it happens. A strange sense of foreboding hangs in the night time air, and then the alarm bells sound from somewhere inside the keep, and he thinks: _something is very wrong_.

He hurries down the stairs and across the courtyard as the chimes grow louder, and the frantic sounds of rushing footsteps fill the air. He hears yelling, and the clash of metal on metal, and shoves through the door into the keep.

He should have been there, he berates himself. He is the Captain of the Royal Guard. He should be by King Alfor's side in times of need, and it is only by chance that he was away patrolling the wall and keeping the guards on their toes. But someone attacked, and Alfor needs him, and he isn't there.

He runs down the corridor and smells blood. Through open doors he glimpses the Altean soldiers, locked in desperate combat with the Galra of King Zarkon's elite guard. He files the information away for later and keeps going, heart pounding in his chest. The why and the how doesn't matter right now. All that matters is reaching King Alfor and protecting him.

Screams echo from the stairwells; the sounds of running feet on stone; grunts and yells and thuds as fighting fills the castle keep. Shiro turns the corner and accelerates towards the Royal Chambers. That's where Alfor is tonight. Where he thought the King would be safe. Where he didn't think he would need a guard hovering by his side.

The Chamber doors burst open, and Shiro spies the blur of movement and noise beyond - bodies, Galra soldiers, blood on the furniture and the floor - but his eyes snap to Princess Allura, emerging from the doorway, her arm wrapped around her mother's waist.

"Captain Shiro!" she cries when she sees him. "Help! Please…"

She trails off and staggers towards him, and he races to her side. Her mother - Queen Fala - is slumped and breathing heavily, and a pool of crimson blood seeps through the embroidered fabric of her dress.

Shiro takes in the wound, and the bleeding, and the rattle of the Queen's breath as she struggles to get air into her lungs, and he realises very quickly that she is on the verge of death. He reaches for her arm to drape it around his shoulders, but she grabs him by the breastplate instead. Blood drips from her fingers and smears on the metal, but desperation lends her supernatural strength, and she pulls him towards her.

"Allura," she rasps. "Get her out. She must survive."

Queen Fala slumps to the floor, spitting blood, and Allura sags under her weight.

"No!" she cries. "Mother, please…"

"She is the last of us," the Queen wheezes. "She must survive. Shiro… swear to me…"

"I swear," Shiro says, and his voice shakes. The last of them. The King… the rest of the Royal Court…

He looks to Allura, kneeling on the floor, her mother's blood soaking into her dress. The last Altean Royal left alive. Maybe the last of the Blessed, too. And a mother's dying wish for her daughter binds him: his honour, his duty, his loyalty to Altea and the crown.

In his years serving the royal family, he has kept a respectful distance from the Princess. He has barely spoken to her unless required, and never once touched her. Now, he reaches for her arm. His hand closes around her wrist, and he feels her pulse hammering against her skin.

"Come," he says to her. "We have to go."

"No," she sobs, unmoving, unyielding. He pulls at her arm and she resists, tears streaming down her face, her other hand pressed to her mother's shoulder.

Footsteps sound down the corridor, and Shiro hears raised voices: " _is that one of them?_ " and " _get after them!_ " and he knows they have to go, they have to run before it is too late. His grip tightens on Allura's arm.

"Go," Queen Fala whispers. "Survive. For all of us."

The Princess wails in despair. But she knows her duty; she knows what will happen if she dies tonight along with the rest of her family. And so she lets Shiro tug her upright by the arm and pull her away down the corridor - but she looks behind her the whole way, watching her mother bleed to death on the cold stone floor.

Shiro drags her into a side corridor, and the sound of footsteps follows them; the yell of guards and the clatter of weapons. He hauls open the door to a store cupboard and pulls Allura inside - too rough for a Princess, but they have no time for gentleness - and shoves a chair under the door handle.

He glances around in the gloom. Voices echo from the hall outside, and the door rattles as someone tries the handle. Allura backs up, eyes wide with fear, her mother's blood still on her hands, and Shiro runs his fingers over the back wall and tries to stay calm and focus. Focus… He feels the ridges of stone under his touch and finds the one loose brick in the wall. He presses it just so, and a section of the wall springs open to reveal a hidden passage. An escape route, for desperate times such as these.

The voices outside come louder now: " _was it the Princess?_ " and " _try all the doors!_ ", and he hustles Allura quickly through the gap in the wall and into the darkness beyond. He hears hammering on the cupboard door and raised voices, and the handle rattles again. He puts his shoulder to the wall section and heaves with all his might, and the wall swings back into place with a click, and he leans his head against it and sighs with relief.

He turns to look for Princess Allura, and finds her huddled against the far wall. The corridor in which they now stand is narrow and dusty and only dimly lit, but even in the gloom her tears glimmer like jewels. She hugs herself, bloody fingers leaving stains on her sleeves, and her eyes are glazed and far away.

"Princess?" Shiro says.

She does not respond. He takes her gently by the shoulders.

"Princess," he says again, more forcefully this time. Her eyes refocus on his face.

"What do we do?" she whispers. "Father is… I saw him…"

Fresh tears stream down her face, and Shiro recognises the shock that threatens to render her catatonic. He squeezes her upper arms and lowers his face close to hers.

"Listen to me, Princess," he says, and he pours command and control into his tone. "You have to survive. I swore to your mother I would get you out alive. So right now, we have to run."

"I can't leave them," she whispers, and even in the midst of tragedy he has to admire her loyalty and courage.

"We will come back," Shiro tells her. "We will fight, and put this right. But if we stay here, you will die. So for now, we run. Do you understand?"

The Princess takes a deep breath, and nods. She scrubs the tears from her face.

"Lead the way," she says, and something of the royal tone returns to her voice.

He takes her hand and leads her down the hidden passageway, and down a flight of stairs, and through a dark corridor so narrow they have to walk sideways. Eventually, they emerge at the far side of the keep, outside the castle wall, in a narrow culvert blocked off by iron bars. They splash through the water until they reach the tunnel's end, and Shiro finds the hidden switch on the wall that causes the iron bars to retract and let them through.

He pulls Allura with him into the shadow under the wall and pauses to assess the situation. The noise of battle still rises into the night sky, and when he looks up at the wall top he sees the reddish glow of fire leaping from the roofs of the castle's outhouses. He shudders. But the chaos caused by a widespread fire in the keep will help to conceal their escape.

There are no Altean guards left on the wall top. That in itself is a bad sign.

He creeps along the wall towards a guard station where several horses are stabled for patrols. Allura follows him, her hands on his arm - either for comfort or guidance in the dark. He reaches for his belt and pulls out a slender knife.

"Here," he says as he hands it to her. "Just in case."

She takes it wordlessly, and follows him around the edge of the stables until they can duck through the door and into the warm interior.

A wicket gate in the wall stands open next to the stable block, and Shiro risks a glance through the gate into the courtyard. Soldiers run back and forth, but he sees more Galra guards than Alteans. He pushes down on the fear and confusion and focuses on the task at hand. Get out. Get the Princess to safety. Think through all the implications later.

The horses in the stable are restless, and they whiny and stamp their hooves as he makes his way down the stalls. They smell the smoke and hear the noise, and it sets them on edge. Allura stands near the back wall, knife clutched in her hand, and stares from him to the horses.

He works quickly and silently in the gloom. He saddles two horses and tethers their bridles together, so they will not get separated. Allura fetches the saddlebags without being asked.

"Your dress," Shiro says to her. She is not wearing a riding gown, and her flowing skirt will catch on her legs as they ride.

She understands. Without a moment's hesitation, she sets the knife to her dress and rips a long slit down the side. Shiro nods approvingly and helps her onto the first horse. Then he mounts the second and urges her into a trot.

As they go past, he kicks open the latches on the stalls and pushes the doors open. The horses stir restlessly, and as he opens their stalls they burst out and head out of the stables in a gallop.

The noise might be enough to attract attention, but the sounds of melee in the courtyard and the crackle of flames will probably muffle the disturbance. Horses bolting at the scent of fire is hardly suspicious, and once the Princess's escape is discovered, their attackers will be on the lookout for hoofprints. This way, they will find multiple tracks, leading in different directions.

He spurs his own horse into a gallop, and Allura follows his lead. They turn their backs on the Castle and ride down the hill side-by-side, and the rest of the horses scatter around them. Shiro makes for the foot of the hill and the forest, and the gap in the trees that will bring them under the welcome cover of the foliage.

A yell goes up behind them. Arrows whistle passed in the darkness, and Allura gasps and kicks at her horse's flanks. Shiro's heart hammers in his chest, and he strains to hear the raised voices behind them, to make out the words.

" _Was it just the horses bolting?_ "

" _I thought I saw someone…_ "

Shiro grips the reins and keeps low in the saddle. He glances at Allura, riding beside him, but her face is set in a stern frown and she gives nothing away but determination to survive. A few more arrows clatter around them, and Allura whimpers - but she has the wisdom not to scream. The trees loom ahead of them, a welcoming blanket of darkness into which they can disappear, and they are just a few yards out, almost there…

" _Leave it! Secure the keep!_ "

The words echo down the hillside, and Shiro lets out a ragged breath. They reach the treeline, and the horses swerve onto the path without slowing down, and the forest swallows them into its leafy embrace.

A few yards up the path, Allura reins in her horse, and the tether forces Shiro to also bring his mount to a halt. The Princess looks back through the trees, at the castle and the flames now visible over the walls. Her bottom lip trembles, but she does not cry.

"We will come back," she whispers. "I swear it on my mother's life. I will have justice for this."

"Come," Shiro says. "We can't linger here."

Allura takes one last, long look at the castle, and then she turns and follows him into the forest.

* * *

 

They stick to the forest path - as narrow as it is, it is relatively clear of obstructions. Speed is of the essence, and Shiro feels the burning need to put as much distance as possible between the Princess and the castle. They gallop as much as possible, and slow down to let the horses rest, and then gallop some more. The forest path dips down into a valley; rises up the next hillside in twists and turns; follows the crest of a ridge that bends away from the castle and the capitol and takes them further into the wild lands.

They speak little. Allura cries, occasionally, but she wipes the tears away hastily and keeps going.

Shiro focuses on the path, and keeping a look out for fallen branches or roots or rocks, but his mind strays again and again to the attack on the castle. Who could have organised it? And why? It was King Zarkon's elite soldiers who seemed to be attacking - but Zarkon and the Galra are loyal friends to Altea. Their stay in the castle was a diplomatic visit; their guards were only there as a formality. Surely?

He curses himself for not seeing it coming. For not knowing. There must have been signs that he missed.

He listens out for sounds of pursuit as they head deeper and deeper into the forest, but all he hears is the thud of the horses' hooves. The silence of the night settles around them. He wonders how long it will take for their attackers to put two and two together realise that Princess Allura escaped, and how long before they come to follow the tracks of horses leading into the woods.

They keep riding, and as the rush of fear and desperation wears off Allura sags in her saddle, and her grip on the reins loosens. She looks exhausted. Shiro slows down to match her pace and reaches for her shoulder.

"Princess," he says. "You can't sleep. We have to keep going."

"Can't we stop?" she asks. "I'm so tired…"

He shakes his head. "It's not safe. Someone might be following us. For now we have to keep going."

"I can't," she whispers.

She looks like she can barely stay upright. At this rate, she will fall off the horse. But they cannot stop here; despite the distance they have covered, the castle still looms behind them, and they are not far enough away for comfort.

"You have to," he says. "We're not stopping yet."

She looks at him, eyes bleary and confused, face stained with tears and grime and soot. He has an idea.

"Shift forward," he tells her.

He dismounts from his own horse and climbs up behind her. He takes the reins in one hand, and wraps his other arm around her waist to hold her steady. She does not protest at the proximity - or his touch - and from the way she sags against him he senses she is relieved at this solution. He kicks the horse into a gallop and they set off once more.

* * *

 

They ride until dawn, sharing a horse. Shiro switches horses every few hours, so that their mounts can rest from the weight of carrying two people. Their pace slows somewhat, but at least they can continue their journey.

Allura sleeps, intermittently, cradled in his arms. He lets her slumber and says nothing. After everything she has been through, it is no wonder her heart and body crave rest.

As the first rays of the sun creep over the horizon, Shiro spots a thinning of the trees ahead. They come out at the top of a ridge overlooking a valley, and a stream runs over the rocks below. Shiro reins in the horses and takes stock of their position.

He glances behind him, towards the tree-covered hills they have just crossed. He tries to imagine how events would have unfolded in the castle, and at what point someone would realise that Princess Allura escaped the slaughter. Between the guards who saw them in the corridor with Queen Fala, and the soldiers who spotted the horses as they bolted from the stable, they have enough pieces to put together. And they have had all night to figure it out.

Allura is the only child of the King and Queen, and the oldest of the royal cousins, and the most powerful of the Blessed. Someone - whoever orchestrated this, whoever wanted the Altean royal family wiped out - someone would have made sure to look for Allura's body amongst the dead. When they did not find it, they would have deduced that she got out. Which means that by now they must know she is on the run.

He dismounts from the horse and helps Allura down after him. She takes a few sleepy paces towards a moss-covered stone and slumps down on the ground in front of it, her back to the rock and her eyes closed.

Shiro removes the bridles and bits from the horses so they can graze on the grass and undergrowth beside the path. Then he rummages through the saddle bags. They are packed for soldiers on the march, and contain the bare necessities of survival in the wilderness: canteens of water, some hard rations, ropes, matches, a few tinctures in tiny metal vials. There is also a map, which he pulls out and studies by the light of the rising sun.

After a moment, he takes the canteen and some of the rations and carries them to where Allura is sitting, half-asleep, the warm sunlight catching in her hair.

"Princess," he whispers. "Wake up."

She grumbles at him, and he shakes her by the shoulder.

"Wake up," he repeats. "You need to eat something."

Her eyes flutter open, and she glances from his face to the canteen of water in his hand. She nods, slowly and blearily, and sits up to take the bottle from him. He lets her gulp down the water and then hands her the ration bar. She bites into it, and makes a face.

"I know," he says. "But you need to eat."

"Why have we stopped?" she asks. She takes another bite of the rations, in spite of the taste.

"We need to decide where to go from here," Shiro tells her. "I think we should ditch the horses."

She groans. "You want to go on foot? Why?"

He pulls the map out of his pocket and shows it to her.

"We're on a marked route that leads to Arus," he explains. "This road we're following - it's on the map. There's a ford below us and the path picks up on the other side of the river. If anyone from the castle is following us, they'll be able to find the tracks of the horses."

"We'll be slower on foot," Allura points out.

"Yes. But harder to track. I want to send the horses down the road to Arus. Meanwhile we can walk upriver until we find a path into the trees. Even if it's just an animal track. The running water will mask our scent and we won't leave prints."

He looks for her reaction in her expression, and she seems dismayed at the thought of abandoning the horses. But she nods, nevertheless.

"My father has hunting dogs," she says quietly. "They know my smell."

"We'll leave a scrap of your dress on one of the horses," Shiro says. "It's the best we can do."

He meets her gaze. Crystal blue eyes search his face.

"Alright," she says. "Tell me what to do."

* * *

 

They work quickly and methodically, in silence. They unhook the saddle bags, and Shiro uses the bridles to improvise straps so they can carry them as knapsacks. Allura takes his knife and tears off strips of her dress, which she ties to the stirrups of the horse. Shiro removes the tether and wraps the rope around his waist for safe keeping. Then they lead the horses down the hillside towards the stream.

The ford is shallow - almost pretty, in fact. Wavelets bubble and dance over the smooth white rocks, and the water glistens clear in the early-morning sunlight. Shiro stoops down and refills the canteen before they step out on the opposite bank on a low spit of gravel. He lets the horses drink their fill at the river, and surveys the route ahead.

The riverbank on this side is not as steep as the ridge they left behind them, and the road rises up into the trees in a gentle slope.

"Wait here," Shiro tells the Princess. "Stay out of sight."

He leads the two horses a short distance down the path, until they are fully under the trees. A curve in the path threatens to take him out of eyeshot of Allura, and he stops and lets the horses go. He slaps them both on the flank, and they take off running into the forest. He can only hope that they stay on the path long enough to give the impression of a frantic flight, in fear of pursuit, heading to Arus with all speed…

He glances around. Anything else?

He ducks under the trees and goes a few paces from the path, where he finds a relatively clear patch of undergrowth. He strips out of his armour - it is too conspicuous out here in the wilds, and he will travel faster without it - and then he buries the pieces under a pile of leaves and twigs. On his way back to the path, he makes sure to disturb the bushes a little. Now if anyone tracks them, they will find the hoofprints and - perhaps - his discarded armour half-hidden under the trees. Hopefully it will be enough to convince their enemies that they came this way.

He picks his way back to the riverside, taking care not to step on top of the hoofprints that scuff the path. He finds Allura sitting just under the trees, her knees hugged to her chest.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

She nods, but in truth she looks more ready to collapse into sleep than to trek through the forest. The sight of her sends a spear of guilt through his heart, but he shoves it firmly aside. They cannot rest - not yet - and as painful as it is, he has to force her to keep going, to keep walking, until they can find a place to rest safely.

He crouches down in front of her and rummages through his pack to find one of the vials that contains _tychin_ powder. He tips a little onto his fingertip, and holds it up to her mouth.

"Put it on your tongue," he commands.

She gives him a wary look. "What is it?"

" _Tychin_. Soldiers take it on forced marches. It will wake you up."

She still looks sceptical, but she uncurls a hand from around her knee and gently grasps his finger. Her tongue flicks out, and she licks the sparkling white dust from his fingertip.

The effect is instantaneous. Her eyes go wide, and her pupils dilate before she focuses back on his face. She shakes her head, and some of the cloud of weariness drops away.

"Better?" he asks.

She nods. "This feels weird."

"It will last a few hours. Come on. Let's get moving."

* * *

 

They set off upstream, fighting the flow of water, the rising sun warming their backs as they pick their way over the rocks and gravel. The journey is much harder for Allura than it is for Shiro; her skirt drags in the water, and she is wearing only thin slippers not meant for the outdoors. She has to keep one hand on his arm at all times, lest she slip on the damp stones, and she mutters curses under her breath every time she almost loses her footing.

Shiro guides her steps as patiently as he can, but anxiety gnaws at his heart. Their progress is too slow, and the fear of pursuit hangs over them at every step.

They trek upstream for a mile, until Shiro spots a place on the bank where the trees dip towards the water. There is a low opening between the branches - perhaps nothing more than an animal track - but it will suffice to get them out of the open.

Shiro searches along the riverbank until he finds a patch of redmoss growing on one of the rocks. He pulls off clumps of the stinking weed and carries it back to where Allura waits in the shallows.

"Here," he says as he hands it to her. "Rub this on your skin and clothes."

Allura sniffs at it, and grimaces.

"It smells like horse shit," she mutters.

Despite the severity of their situation, Shiro finds himself fighting back a smile at her choice of words.

"That's the point," he tells her. "It will mask our scent so they can't track us."

"Bleugh," Allura says. She scrunches up her face; but she does as he bids nevertheless, and rubs the moss all over her face and neck and hands, and smears it on her clothes. Shiro does the same before he tosses the plant into the stream and climbs up the bank.

"Stick to the rocks," he says to Allura. He offers his hand to her, and she takes it with a look of gratitude. With his help, she scrambles up the rocky bank and out of the water and they duck under the treeline.

"Wait a moment," Shiro says. He drags some fallen branches from the undergrowth and stacks them up as best he can at the treeline. Hopefully, the disguise will hide the entrance of the pathway. That, along with the stink of the redmoss, should keep any pursuers off their trail.

They set off down the forest path, Shiro in the lead. The track is narrow and the trees overhang so far they create a canopy above them, shading every step. The air beneath the trees is cool and still, and a restful silence hangs around them, broken only by the rustle of small animals moving about in the undergrowth, or birds chirping and calling in the branches. The path twists and turns, but it heads generally north-west, and Shiro offers up a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess. Their current route takes them in the opposite direction of the horses he set loose on the Arus road. Hopefully they can put some distance between themselves and their enemies.

Shiro contemplates their position as he picks his way along the trail, Allura close behind him. The Galran soldiers attacked the royal family - that much, at least, seems obvious. The why and how he still needs to figure out, and he makes a mental note to ask Allura about it once they are out of immediate danger. For the time being, their best course of action is to keep moving. They have to anticipate a pursuit, and get as far away as possible. The forest offers them the best chance of vanishing, but at some point they will have to come out the other side. And then what? Where next?

He shakes his head. One step at a time. First: they need to disappear.

They continue their march as the day wears on, and Shiro keeps note of the sun's position in the sky so he can track the direction of their journey. They stop occasionally to rest and eat some of the rations, but Shiro does not dare linger, and he keeps these intermissions brief.

Allura grumbles at the lack of rest, and as noon comes and goes she seems to withdraw into herself. Shiro glances at her often as they make their way through the forest, following the path as it winds uphill, the sun dappling through the leaves and the birds singing around them. The _tychin_ has worn off, and the alertness is gone from her face. She struggles over the rocks and roots that occasionally make the path treacherous, and she stumbles often.

He does not dare give her more of the _tychin_ \- it is dangerous in large doses. And yet she is fading fast. Her eyes droop closed as they walk, and she sways from side to side.

Shiro stops, and takes her by the arm.

"Come on," he urges. "We have to keep going."

"I'm so tired," she whispers. "Can we please rest?"

"It isn't safe, Princess," Shiro says. "Just a little further."

She looks at him pleadingly, and tears shimmer in her eyes.

"I can't," she breathes. "I just can't."

He believes her. She looks dead on her feet. But they cannot stop here.

"Alright," he says. "Sit here for a moment."

She sags gratefully onto a fallen log, eyes closed. Shiro repositions his pack to the front of his body, over his chest, and turns back to Allura.

"Get on my back," he tells her.

She looks up at him, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. We have to keep moving until nightfall. Get on my back."

She stands up, unsteadily, and Shiro crouches down in front of her. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and he lifts her up and settles her weight on his back. Then he sets off again, deeper into the trees.

"Shiro," the Princess whispers next to his ear. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he tells her. "I swore to protect you. I promised your mother I would get you out alive."

Her hands tighten in his tunic, and she buries her head in his shoulder. He thinks he hears a sob, but he says nothing about it. He focuses on the ground ahead of him, and putting one foot in front of the other.

He carries her for miles, stopping occasionally to rest, but never for long. He takes some of the _tychin_ himself, to stave off the weariness that drags at his bones, and he lets Allura doze on his back as he walks. The sun curves across the sky, headed for the western horizon, and Shiro wonders where they will sleep tonight.

He has to stop by nightfall. He cannot continue for another night without sleep. Exhaustion fills his veins like poison, and his thoughts grow sluggish and sloppy. His steps become uncertain, and his vision blurs at the edges. He pinches his nails into his palms and forces himself to keep going.

Eventually, the trees above him part and he glimpses a rocky outcrop rising above the forest. The path leads in that direction, he realises. Perhaps he can find a cave, or an overhang of stone to shelter under.

He keeps going, struggling upwards with Allura on his back, until he reaches the foot of the hill. The path runs along the edge, but another narrow trail leads up the side of the outcrop towards the summit.

Shiro glances up and tries to get the measure of the hill. Halfway up the side, he spies a shadowy opening. A cave, then. The path in front of him seems to lead up to the entrance. Climbing up the hillside will leave them exposed, briefly - but at the top they will find shelter and protection. And from the hill they can see much of the surrounding countryside.

It is worth it, he thinks. To get out of the elements for the night.

He struggles up the hillside as the sun sets and the first stars creep into the sky. Allura is passed out on his back, and he grips her wrists as he makes his way towards the cave. The path beneath him is treacherous and narrow: the rocks and gravel shift under his feet, and he has to pick each step carefully. Eventually, he reaches a flat shelf of rock, and the welcoming darkness of the cave entrance.

He staggers inside, too tired to worry about caution. But the cave appears to be empty, and as his eyes adjust to the gloom he spots nothing but the rough stone walls rising above him. He drags himself further into the cavern, a step at a time, and feels along the walls. In the darkness he makes out drifts of dry leaves and bracken, blown in by the wind, but nothing stirs - no man nor beast. The cave is deserted.

He sinks gratefully onto the biggest pile of leaves he can find, too exhausted to think of anything but rest. He lays Allura down as gently as he can, and slides the pack from her shoulders. She stirs slightly, but does not wake. He removes his cloak and drapes it over her body, and then he lies down beside her and lets sleep take him.


	2. a field of bluebells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the woods are lovely, dark and deep // but i have promises to keep // and miles to go before i sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might have noticed that in this AU, Allura is a little more inexperienced than she is in VLD canon. it just fitted with the AU better - in canon, Allura has already witnessed betrayal and war and loss by the time we meet her, whereas here, we're seeing that betrayal and grief play out in real time. so i figured she'd be a little soft around the edges compared to how she is in canon.

Shiro awakes with a jolt, battling the remnants of disturbing dreams. His first thought is that Allura is no longer beside him, and he sits up in a rush, wondering where she might have gone. But he spots her immediately, sitting by the entrance to the cave, and the panic in his heart eases at the sight of her.

He glances down at himself, and his cloak covering his body. Allura must have draped it over him when she woke up.

"Princess," he says, and his voice comes out thick with sleep.

Allura turns at the sound of his voice.

"You're awake," she says. She gets up and brings him a canteen of water, and Shiro sits up and takes it from her hands.

"How long did I sleep?" he asks her. The sky outside the cavemouth is light, but the breeze still carries the chill of morning.

"All night," Allura says. "It's just passed dawn."

Shiro groans. "You should have woken me."

"You were exhausted. You carried me halfway through the forest."

He takes a sip from the canteen and glances at Allura's face. There's a hint of worry in her eyes, and she watches him carefully. He looks away from her, and notices the saddlebags unpacked near the cave mouth.

"What were you doing?" he asks.

"Taking stock of what we have," she says.

"Show me?"

They get up and move to sit near the cavemouth, where the early morning sunlight illuminates the contents of the two knapsacks, neatly lined up on the floor. Besides the map and matches and vials, there's also a small folding knife, some gold coins, bandages, and other small handy items. And a pile of ration bars, wrapped up in wax paper.

"How much food do we have?" Shiro asks.

"Twenty-four bars," Allura tells him.

He does the calculations in his head.

"About six days' worth," he mutters.

"Can we stretch it out? Make it last longer?"

He shakes his head. "We'll be walking a lot. We'll need to keep up our strength."

"Then we will need food, eventually," Allura says quietly.

Shiro looks over at her where she sits on a pile of fallen leaves. At some point while he slept, she made adjustments to her attire, and by some artful ripping and tying has turned her skirt into a makeshift pair of trousers. But it is only a temporary solution. Besides, she still doesn't have proper shoes.

"You'll need a change of clothes, too," he says.

" _Please_. And boots."

He nods, absently, and stares at the equipment in front of them. It's meant for emergencies, in case soldiers find themselves in the wilds with no food or shelter, and the provisions are basic. Still, he's grateful to have them at all. Things could have been much worse without them.

"Tell me what happened at the castle," he says. "Tell me why the Galra guards attacked you."

Allura goes quiet. She rubs her hands together, and her eyes drift to the floor. She suddenly looks younger, and it tugs at Shiro's heart.

It is strange, he thinks. In the capital, Oriande, he served King Alfor, and talked with him often enough about practical matters concerned with keeping the royal family safe. He knew Allura, of course - and she knew him, by name and by sight - but they never spoke much. They never had the need. They were strangers who shared the same space. He would be in the room with her often, watching over her, or checking for dangers on the road when the royal family travelled together… but they rarely exchanged a word. Perhaps ' _thank you, Captain_ ' once in a while. Or ' _be careful here, Princess_ ' if need be.

And now, here they sit, in a cave together. Just the two of them. In the past night and day he has spoken more words to her than he has in the entire time they have known each other. And now he is asking her to trust him with the story of how her family died. It is a strange twist of fate that brings them here.

Allura clears her throat. Her hands go still in her lap.

"My father had gone to the throne room with King Zarkon," she says quietly. "But supper was ready in our chambers, so I went to find him. When I got to the throne room, I saw through the door… Zarkon standing over my father, and the Galra guards surrounding him. He killed… he killed my father. I watched him die."

Her voice trembles, and she presses her lips together as if to trap the sadness inside herself and not let it spill out. Shiro holds out a hand, wordlessly, and after a momentary hesitation she reaches out and curls her fingers around his and continues her story.

"I ran for the chambers, but Prince Lotor was waiting for me there, with more of the guards. He grabbed hold of me and told me I would be spared, provided I did not make trouble. I was not to be killed."

"Did he say why?" Shiro asks.

Her grip on his hand tightens, as if the memories threaten to drag her away, and she is trying to keep herself tethered to reality. He runs his thumb over her knuckles and waits for her to take a steadying breath.

"I was to be his bride," Allura whispers. She looks up, into Shiro's eyes, fear and horror writ large on her face. "He wanted to gloat, and so he told me Zarkon's plan. They had been plotting the betrayal for years. They intended to kill the whole royal family, and all of the Blessed. King Zarkon means to install Lotor as the Prince Regent of Altea, ruling on behalf of the Galra Empire. And I was to be his bride. And provide him with… with…"

_…with an heir_ , Shiro thinks. A half-Galra heir of the Altean royal family - one possibly Blessed by the Goddess - to legitimise their claim to the throne.

"I won't let that happen," Shiro says. Allura looks up, and tears spill from her eyes. "I swear to you. I won't let that happen."

She nods, slowly, and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

"How did you get out?" Shiro asks gently.

"The castle guards rushed in, and fighting broke out. My mother charged at Lotor and we fought him off. It sounds silly, but… I know a sleep spell. I managed to put him to sleep."

"It's not silly," Shiro says. "That sounds pretty smart to me."

The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at her lips, and she continues.

"We ran, but my mother was hurt in the struggle. We made it out of the chambers and into the corridor. Which is where we met you."

Shiro nods. His mind runs over all the pieces as he tries to fit them together.

A betrayal - but something personal, too, for King Zarkon to take out King Alfor himself, in the throne room. The killing of the Blessed is also cause for concern. And Lotor's confidence - the self-assurance to gloat and brag even in the midst of the attack… Shiro worries at his bottom lip as he tries to comprehend the scope of it, and just how much in Altea has irreparably changed overnight.

"Did Prince Lotor see you escape?" he asks.

Allura shakes her head. "He was out cold. But he will know, by now."

Shiro nods. He looks down at Allura's hand resting in his, and thinks about how much she is trusting him in this moment. Perhaps she has always seen him as a solid and comforting presence. Or perhaps she has no choice.

"Shiro…" she says, and he looks back up at her. "There was something else… When I saw my father in the throne room, there were-- there were Alteans standing with Zarkon. Our people. Advisors, courtiers, ministers… people we trusted. They took Zarkon's side."

Shiro's heart sinks. He pulls his hand away from hers and scrubs at his face. And yet it makes sense - a horrible, twisted kind of sense. They spent years planning it, after all.

"It was a coup," he says. "They turned people from within first, before they made their move in the open."

Allura nods.

"What do we do--?" she begins, and then she stops, suddenly. Her eyes go unfocused, and she flexes her fingers and draws a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Shiro asks.

"I sense something," she murmurs. Of course. She is powerfully Blessed, and she can feel the flow of energy through the land itself. "Not close. But. There are many of them."

Fear grips him in its icy embrace, and Shiro forces himself to take a breath and not panic. He listens intently, but hears nothing but the chirp of the birds on the early morning air. He crawls on his hands and knees towards the cavemouth and the lip of stone that overhangs the forest outside. Allura follows him, and they come to a halt at the edge of the shelf, bodies pressed flat to the rock.

The ridge overlooks much of the forest, and their journey yesterday took them uphill, leaving them at a higher elevation than the stream they crossed at dawn. Shiro spies the curve of the river glinting in the sunlight like a ribbon of gold. There, at the ford where they crossed, stands a group of riders and foot soldiers.

"They're Galra," Allura whispers beside him. "I can always sense the Galra. They feel different."

Shiro nods. They _look_ like Galra - but there are some Alteans mixed in there too, mostly on the horses. Red hot anger sears into his chest at the sight of them.

Several of the distant figures search the riverbank, and some of those on horseback ride up and down the stream, inspecting the treeline. Shiro chews at his knuckle, heart hammering, waiting to see what will happen next and which way they head.

As he watches, two figures emerge from the Arus road. One of them holds up something that glints in the sunlight - Shiro's breastplate, he guesses. They found his armour. Some of the figures on horseback confer amongst themselves - and then one of them holds up their hand and points at the Arus road. The faint sounds of barked orders drift across the morning air, and the entire party regroups and heads for the path under the trees.

So. They took the bait.

Shiro heaves a sigh of relief as he watches the last of the horses disappear under the trees and take the road towards Arus. The gamble with the horses paid off, and they have bought themselves at least a little time before the ruse is discovered.

He retreats back into the cave, and Allura follows after him.

"They fell for it," she whispers. "Did you know it would work?"

"It was more of a prayer than a plan," he says wryly, and Allura smiles, just a little.

"What now?" she asks.

"We need to keep going," he says. "They're still too close for comfort. We should pack up the saddlebags and leave as soon as possible."

Allura nods. "We can head to Taujeer province. The Governor there will help us. It's not far to the west, and from there we can make our way back to Oriande."

Shiro gapes at her. Her entire family died - and yet she is ready to march right back into danger as soon as she finds a change of clothes. He can't fault her courage. Her strategizing, on the other hand, leaves a lot to be desired.

"Princess," he says gently. "We can't go to the provinces."

"Why not?"

"You told me the Galra planned this for years. With help from Alteans. We don't know how many spies they have planted in the regional courts. We don't know how many Governors were promised wealth and status if they helped King Zarkon overthrow your father. Or how many of them were killed by Galra spies just waiting to strike."

Her face falls, and he watches as the full realisation of their position hits home for her. She had expected to find help along the way - to set things right quickly and enact swift justice on the invaders. But Shiro knows, deep in his heart, that it is not that simple. The Galra were able to strike at the heart of the Altean royal family. They planned this out, over the years, recruiting Alteans as they went - and then executed it swiftly and suddenly, without warning. They intend to invade and occupy Altea, with Lotor on the throne.

"There's probably Galra soldiers marching for the regional capitals as we speak," Shiro goes on. "King Zarkon will bring in more troops to reinforce his position. If we try and go back to Oriande - to the castle - we'll be up against an army."

Allura chews her lip and stares at the floor. Her shoulders slump, and Shiro feels the weight of her disappointment heavy on the air. There is no swift return for her - to the castle, to her throne, to any sense of normality.

"We have to leave the country," she whispers.

"Yes," Shiro says softly. "We do."

She looks up at him, fists clenched, a fierce fury burning in her eyes.

"I can't just abandon everyone!" she cries. "I can't just… just leave! I have to confront Zarkon. My people _need_ me. They killed the other Blessed! Do you know what that means?"

He does. Everyone in Altea knows the worth of the Blessed. They are gifted with powerful healing magic that restores and replenishes the land. With the help of the Blessed, Altea thrives and grows strong. Without them, the land withers and dies.

But that is all the more reason why Allura must survive. By all accounts, she is powerful enough to heal the whole of Altea, if need be. If she dies, any damage wrought by the Galra in their invasion will be irreversible.

Shiro takes the Princess gently by the shoulders.

"I know what's at stake," he says patiently. "But there are other Blessed, in the provinces and the temples. The Galra cannot have killed them all. The land will not die just yet."

"And who will lead them?" Allura demands. "Who will protect them from Zarkon? I am the last of the royal line! Altea needs its Princess!"

"Yes. We do."

She catches the softness of his tone, and deflates slightly. Her hands unclench, and she looks up into Shiro's eyes.

"Then why are you asking me to abandon them?" she asks.

"I'm not," he tells her. "But we need you _alive_. If you die in a reckless charge on Oriande, who will seek justice for your family? Who will restore the land? Who will oust Lotor from the throne?"

She meets his gaze, and conflicting emotions war in her eyes. Finally, she sighs, and looks at the floor.

"It feels wrong to run away," she murmurs, and her voice is tiny and fractured and sad.

Shiro puts his fingers under her chin and tilts her head back up, so he can look her in the eyes.

"I know," he says. "But we will come back. I promise. We will set this right."

He drops his hand then, because it occurs to him that such a touch is an intimacy too far, and a soldier should not take such liberties with a princess - even in such desperate circumstances as these. But Allura does not object. She only nods.

"We must go to one of our allies," she says.

"We should have fled to the south," Shiro says. "We could have made it to Marmora in a few days. But I didn't think of it."

Allura purses her lips. She kneels on the floor and begins to repack the saddlebags, and Shiro crouches beside her and helps her.

"Marmora is not a close ally to Altea," she says, as she carefully stacks the ration bars in her pack. "They are a small country with their own internal struggles. Even if they decided to help us, the aid they could offer would be limited."

"But it's closer," Shiro points out. "And from there we could travel somewhere else."

"Zarkon will expect us to travel to Marmora." Allura picks up the vials and rolls them thoughtfully between her fingers, before she stows them in the bag. "And you set the horses down the Arus road, remember? It will look like we headed to Arus to make a wide detour around Oriande, and circle back towards the Marmoran border to the south. We should go in the opposite direction. To Olkar."

She looks up at him, her eyes bright and determined. Shiro pauses in the action of stowing the matches beside his own rations, and considers this suggestion.

"It's hundreds of miles north," he says. "And we don't have horses. We'll have to walk the whole way."

"I know," Allura says wryly. "But Olkar has been a close ally of Altea for centuries, and they have wealth and resources and a strong army. Plus… the Altean ambassador to Olkar is my father's very close friend. I've known him since I was a child. I can trust him to be sympathetic."

Shiro thinks about this. He knows a little about Olkar - a huge country to the north, renowned for their magical devices. It's certainly an appealing prospect - but the distance is formidable.

"It will take us weeks to get there," he says. "Are you sure that's where you want to go? We won't be able to get much help on the way - we'll have to lay low and attract as little attention as possible."

Allura nods, decisively. She stands up, her knapsack full and buckled, and glances around at the floor to make sure she hasn't missed anything.

"I'm sure," she says. "Zarkon will not expect it. And the northern provinces are sparsely populated. If we can travel in disguise, we can pass unnoticed in the northern regions. Besides - we will not have to walk the _entire_ way."

"We won't?"

"No. If we can make it to Naxum, we can take the skyboat directly to the Olkari capital."

Shiro stands up, and hoists his pack onto his back.

"Alright," he says. "But we still have to make it all the way to Naxum. And before _that_ , we need to get out of these woods without being seen."

"I'll leave that to you," Allura says. She carefully places her pack by the cave entrance. "If we are leaving, then I must offer prayers to the Goddess before we depart."

"Alright."

Shiro watches her kneel on the floor, her face to the rising sun. She places her hands on the ground and whispers a few words; she lifts her hands to her knees and murmurs something else, some incantation to the Goddess. Then she presses her hands together and begins a gentle, melodious chant.

Her voice is soft and lovely, and with a jolt Shiro realises he has never observed her in her prayers before, despite all the time he spent guarding the royal family. She must have done this only in private - but there is no privacy out here in the wilds, and so she kneels in front of him on the dry leaves and chants her devotions to the Goddess who blessed her with her gifts. She makes gentle shapes with her hands: raising them up near her face, or turning her palms towards the sky, or brushing her fingers together and apart, together and apart. The actions are soothing - almost hypnotic - and as Allura murmurs her praises to the Goddess the marks on her cheeks begin to glow soft white.

She is mesmerising, Shiro thinks. This is a side of her he has never seen before, and it is captivating. There is a wonderful and strange beauty to it, and he finds it hard to look away from her.

She finishes her prayer, and presses her hands lightly to the earth, and stands up. She looks up to find Shiro still watching her, and he realises he has been staring, and it's far too late to look away. But her face softens, and she beckons him over with a wave of her hand.

He goes, because he can't not. She takes a few steps towards him, and they meet halfway. She places her hands on his chest - lightly, almost hesitantly - and a warm flood of quintessence washes over him. The magic seeps into him from her hands, and it feels like sunlight poured through his veins. A gift from the Goddess, courtesy of one She has Blessed.

"Repayment," Allura murmurs. "For yesterday."

"Thank you," he says, and the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.

"You shouldn't do this too often," he says, as she drops her hands from his chest.

"Why not?"

"Well… Queen Haggar is a witch. Can't she detect this sort of magic?"

Allura looks at him sternly, as if he has said something incredibly foolish.

"This isn't magic," she says. "It's just a simple incantation. Haggar cannot track something like this."

"Oh." He clears his throat awkwardly, and he suddenly _feels_ very foolish. Allura raises a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"Do you not know the difference between magic and prayers?" she asks.

He shrugs. "If we're walking all the way to Olkar together, you'll have plenty of time to teach me, won't you?"

Allura rolls her eyes at him, but even though her lips are pursed in disapproval, there's a hint of amusement in her eyes. It's tempting to try and draw that out of her; to reach out for the side of her that might laugh, or smile, or tease him. But she is still a princess, after all, and he is still her guard. They are not friends. So instead he turns and makes for the cavemouth.

They step out into the sunlight, and Shiro assesses the path by which they came up last night. The loose gravel and shifting stones have obscured their trail, but even so… He checks the other side of the rock ledge, and finds the side of the outcrop shallow enough to allow a descent.

"We should climb down this way," he says. Allura peers over his shoulder at the sloping rockface, and frowns.

"Why can't we go down the path?"

"We should try and stay off the track we followed yesterday," Shiro explains. "If we found it, the Galra can find it too. If we climb down here, we can drop straight into the trees and head north. And we'll leave fewer tracks."

"Alright," Allura says, but she looks unconvinced.

Shiro unwinds the rope from around his waist. He turns to Allura, and wraps the rope around her hips. She raises her arms instinctively, and watches him tie the rope securely around her middle.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Making sure you don't fall off a cliff face," Shiro says, before he can stop himself. Allura gives him another one of her looks, but that spark of amusement glints in her eyes again, and Shiro can't bring himself to regret it.

* * *

The climb down from the cave takes them almost an hour, because Allura is not a great climber. Her outfit hinders her every move; despite her best efforts to improve it, she is still wearing what is, essentially, a rather flimsy gown intended for quiet evenings spent in front of the fire.

Shiro takes the lead, finding and pointing out the holds, and Allura follows him as best as she can. He has to support her and help her with some of the harder sections, but to her credit she doesn't complain. She screws her face up in concentration and bites her lip and accepts his helping hand without comment.

Fortunately, they make it to the ground without any falls, and Allura unties the rope from her body so that Shiro can wind it around his waist once more. He glances around at the forest to take stock of where they are.

Their descent brought them down on the north-west face of the outcrop, and they need to head due north. Shiro makes note of the position of the sun in the sky, and the rock rising up behind them, and the line of mountains just visible on the western horizon.

"We need to keep those mountains on our left," he tells Allura, gesturing to the line of ridges and peaks just visible over the trees. "And this hill behind us. That way, we'll be heading due north."

Allura nods her understanding, and they set off into the trees. There is no path to follow here, and the forest floor is thick with moss and low-lying bushes, but they pick a trail as best they can between the undergrowth.

"I'm not sure what's on the other side of this forest," Shiro says, as they scramble over mossy rocks under huge, ancient trees.

"The Zyin province," Allura says. "And the Northern Wilds."

Shiro glances back at her. "How do you know that?"

"I'm the Princess of Altea," she says simply. "I should know the layout of my own country, don't you think?"

He turns around to find her eyes on him, and that same wry expression on her face, and the hint of amusement in her gaze that is starting to become familiar. Perhaps they are friends, then. Perhaps, out here in the wilderness, they have no choice about that.

* * *

 

They walk for most of the day, beneath towering trees that filter out the sunlight and make the forest floor cool and still. They pick their way through fields of bluebells, and glades of moss and fallen logs, and over twisted roots and rocks. Sometimes, they find narrow animal tracks and follow them for several miles, knowing that the passage of the woodland creatures will mask their scent and disguise their trail. At other times, they wade along sparkling streams and look for places on the bank where the gravel and stones will make their footprints hard to follow.

At one point, they find several huge trees with branches that spread like walkways. Shiro climbs all the way to the top of one to stick his head above the foliage and triangulate their position, and then they walk along the branches for a while, avoiding the ground completely.

Allura does not complain about any of these efforts to conceal their tracks. She seems to trust Shiro completely, and whenever he orders her to take a harder route over rocks rather than mud, or walk through a streambed, she obeys without question.

He keeps an eye on her as the day wears on. She seems tired, and her expression is often sad and withdrawn, but she doesn't grumble or ask to rest. He lets her take a little more of the _tychin_ , but he's hesitant to give her too much or make a habit of it.

They do not have time to stop and forage for food, or hunt any of the wild animals that rustle around them in the trees and bushes. Time is of the essence, and speed is more important than comfort. They eat the rations instead, in spite of their unpleasant taste, and press on as fast as possible, always heading north.

Dusk settles around them, and the forest grows quiet as the birds and beasts settle in for the night. Shiro searches for a place for them to rest, and eventually they find a hollow in the roots of a tree where they can sleep out of sight.

Shiro climbs the tree as the sun sets, so he can make note of their position for the morning. They are still on track, but it is hard to judge their progress, because all he sees is trees for miles. He climbs down and memorises their location, and the direction of north, and then he climbs down into the hollow alongside Allura.

She sits and shivers between the roots, on a pile of leaves and bracken. It is still spring, and although the worst of the rain has passed, the nights are still cold. And Allura is hardly dressed for the outdoors.

"Can we light a fire?" she asks.

Shiro shakes his head. "I don't want to risk it," he explains. "Just in case someone followed us."

Allura nods. She takes a final sip from the canteen and settles herself on a pile of dry leaves. Shiro takes off his cloak and lays it over her, and her fingers curl gratefully into the fabric. Shiro sits and watches her for a little while, until the full dark of night descends and he can only make out the vague shape of her body in the gloom. He finds himself thinking of how to keep her safe.

She was raised in peaceful times, he knows that much. She has plenty of strength, but it has never been tested - not like this. Shiro remembers Queen Fala, lying bleeding on the floor, using her last breath to beg him to save her daughter, keep her safe, make sure she survives… He picks at a twig from the floor and thinks about that, and about the fact that King Alfor and Queen Fala are both dead, and their country now lies in the hands of the Galra.

He is all too aware that he is the only person Allura has left at this point. Any other friends are either gone, or too far away to be of use, or potentially compromised. She has him and no one else. The responsibility of it weighs heavy on his shoulders, along with the weight of a mother's dying wish. He has to keep Allura safe. No matter the cost.

He throws down the twig, and lies on a pile of leaves with his pack under his head as a pillow, and tries to sleep.

In the gloom, he becomes aware of Allura shivering. Her teeth chatter together, and he hears the rustle of leaves as she hugs the cloak further around herself. He picked a spot a few yards from her, so as not to overstep boundaries, but the downside of this is that they cannot share the heat from their bodies.

"Princess?" he asks, into the dark.

"Mmm?"

"Are you cold?"

"'m freezing," she whispers. The words come out slurred, and that's a bad sign.

Shiro gets up and crawls over to her. He has to find her by feel, because the moon has not yet risen and the hollow is pitch black. He lays a hand on her side and feels the tremble in her body. Not good. Not good at all. She is feeling the chill of the night much more than he is.

He lies down beside her, his chest pressed to her back, and pulls the cloak over both of them the best he can.

"Better?" he asks.

Allura hums her approval, but her teeth still chatter and Shiro can feel the shivers that run down her spine. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her close to him, flush against his body, so close that his exhaled breath stirs the fine wisps of hair on her neck. She huddles up to him without question or complaint. Out here, in the wilds, with no one else to turn to but each other, there is little room for decorum or shyness. And so they lie on the drift of leaves together: the last royal princess of Altea, and the guard tasked with keeping her alive no matter the cost.

"Thank you," Allura whispers, and in spite of their position, Shiro smiles in the darkness.

"Anytime, Princess," he says. He lies there and listens to Allura's breathing settle, and then he, too, drifts into sleep.

* * *

 

The chill of the morning wakes him, along with the chirp of the birds welcoming the dawn. Allura is still curled up in his arms, and to his dismay Shiro realises that her skin is cold to the touch.

He swears under his breath and shakes her awake. She stirs reluctantly, and keeps her fingers firmly curled into the cloak.

"Wake up, Princess," Shiro urges her. "Come on. You have to get warm."

"Don' want to," she slurs.

A horrible, dull panic creeps into Shiro's heart. She is freezing, despite his body heat, and that is making her groggy and unresponsive. He rubs vigorously at her arms and shoulders; at her belly, where he can reach it. At her thighs, even though it feels invasive.

"You have to get up," he insists. "You have to move around and get warm."

She grumbles, but she stirs a little of her own accords.

"I'm so cold," she whispers.

She won't move, he realises. Not unless he makes her. So he sits up and hauls her to her feet. She flops against him in a semi-crouch, and he drags her out of the hollow and into the sunlight. He crawls back inside to retrieve the cloak and the packs, and when he scrambles back out he finds Allura kneeling in the glade, surrounded by bluebells, her face turned desperately to the rays of the rising sun. Her teeth chatter, and she hugs her arms tightly.

Shiro drapes the cloak around her shoulders and moves around to pin it at her neck. He contemplates carrying both the saddlebags himself, but the weight of the pack on her back might help Allura get warm, so he gently eases open her arms and helps her slip her hands through the straps.

"Come on," he says. "Get up. Let's move around."

She does not object when he helps her stand. Nor when he drapes his arm around her shoulders and urges her into a walk. She wraps her arm around his waist and huddles close to him, so that her shivers echo through his body. They walk to the end of the glade and back, and then there and back again, and Shiro rubs Allura's shoulder as they go.

"Can't we light a fire?" Allura asks.

It's tempting, because she's still perilously cold. But he recalls the Galra soldiers they saw in the forest just yesterday. If they light a fire, the smoke will rise above the treetops and give away their location. He cannot shake the fear of enemies searching for them, scanning the woods, looking for any sign of two weary travellers stopping to rest.

"It's too risky," he says. "I'm sorry. You have to just keep moving around."

They make a few more circuits of the glade, and eventually the sunlight and the exercise start to do their work. Allura's teeth stop chattering long enough for her to eat something, and the food in turn gives her a little more energy and warmth.

"We should get going," she says, as she nibbles on a ration bar. "We don't want to waste time walking in circles."

"Alright," Shiro says. "We'll try and stick to the sunshine as much as possible."

And so they set off, Allura still shivering. They head north, along the heading Shiro made note of the night before, and as the day warms up Allura gradually unfreezes. She perks up considerably as the chill leaves her body, and by midmorning she is apologising profusely for being so difficult.

"You weren't difficult," Shiro tells her. "Just cold."

"I've never had to sleep outside before," she says quietly. "We used to camp in the gardens as children, but only for fun. And we used to run inside if it rained."

Shiro glances back at her as they make their way through the trees, and catches her thoughtful expression as she looks up at him.

"How do people do this every day?" she asks. She pauses in her walk, hands grasping the straps of her knapsack, her dress in tatters, leaves and grass caught in her hair, her face grubby and stained with the tracks of tears.

Shiro takes in the sight of her, and something in his heart softens. Nothing in her life so far has prepared her for this.

"Well, you get used to it," Shiro says with a shrug.

"No one should have to get used to sleeping in the cold," she replies. She starts walking again, her face turned to the ground as she picks her way carefully around a tangle of roots.

"Unfortunately, it's not always a choice," Shiro says.

"I know that." She stops in front of him, her face turned to his. "I know there are people who have nothing. Who go through this every day. But they shouldn't have to. It's awful."

"It is," Shiro agrees. "Perhaps you can do something about it, when you come back to reclaim your crown."

"I intend to," she says, and Shiro catches the glint of steel in her eyes and believes her.

* * *

A little after midday, Allura's slipper breaks completely.

She has been struggling with her shoes all day, as the delicate fabric gradually succumbs to the elements, until finally it gives out. She stops with a sigh, and then lets out a string of colourful expletives that a royal princess definitely should not know the meaning of. Shiro stops and goes back for her, and she sinks onto a log and pulls off the tattered slipper.

"These were my favourite, too," she mutters.

Shiro drops down on one knee in front of her, and takes the remains of the shoe out of her hands. The upper fabric is stained and torn, and has come loose from the sole completely. He glances at Allura's other shoe, and realises it is not much better.

"Now what?" Allura asks.

Shiro thinks quickly. The sole of the slipper is thin, but tough - it is at least hard enough to protect Allura's feet from thorns and pebbles. To be barefoot in these woods would be far worse. But he needs some way to hold it in place.

"We'll have to improvise," he says.

He lays the slipper down and takes out his knife, and rips several strips off the bottom of his tunic. Then he pulls the sole free from the ruined fabric of Allura's slipper, and hands the upper portion back to her.

"Don't throw it away," he says. "We'll burn it when we get the chance."

He holds the sole of her slipper against the bottom of her foot, and then sets about wrapping the strips off his tunic around it to keep it in place. It is less than ideal, but it is better than nothing. Allura watches him work, the remains of her shoe still dangling from her fingers.

"Why can't I just throw it aside?" she asks.

"I don't want someone to find it," Shiro says, without looking up. He wraps another strip over her foot, covering her toes as best he can and working up towards her ankle. Her skin is delicate, and soft under his touch, and there is a tiny swirl of pink on the inside of her heel - another mark of the Blessed, like the ones on her face. He suddenly wonders if she has others, on other parts of her body. He has never given it much thought before now.

"Do you really think anyone is still following us in this?" Allura gestures around at the thick woodland.

Shiro glances up and finds her staring down at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm a naturally cautious person," he says. He turns back to her foot, now resting on his knee, and ties off the final strip around her ankle to keep the whole thing in place.

"Well, at least one of us is," Allura mutters.

Shiro huffs out a laugh, in spite of everything. He smiles up at her.

"You have a lot of courage," he says. "Sometimes that overrides common sense."

"I've spent the last three days crying," Allura says. "You really think I'm brave?"

"You're still here, aren't you?" Shiro asks. He still kneels in front of her, her foot on his thigh, his hand resting around her ankle, and it feels like he is about to pledge his undying loyalty to her. Which he has, in a way, even if he hasn't exactly put it into words.

"I suppose," Allura says.

Shiro gestures for her other foot, and she shifts slightly on the fallen log so she can switch her feet over and let him inspect the other slipper. It is barely holding together, and Shiro still has a few strips of fabric leftover with which to bind it into place and prevent it from ripping completely.

"You kept going." He begins to tie the strips around her foot and her slipper. "You didn't give up, even after everything. I would say that's brave."

Allura goes quiet, and Shiro focuses on the task at hand and tries not to look at her. For some reason, he feels shy about paying her such a compliment - and so even though some small part of him longs to look up and catch her gazing at him in appreciation, he forces himself to keep his eyes down and his fingers busy.

"I did give up," Allura whispers, into the silence of the forest.

Shiro looks at her, then, because he can't help it. He finds her eyes fixed on him, and beneath the sparkling blue he reads the depths of her sadness and devastation.

"That first night… I gave up," she says. "I didn't have the strength to keep going. I wanted to lie down and die."

"I know," Shiro says, and his hand tightens reflexively around her ankle.

"I'm glad you didn't let me," Allura says.

He meets her gaze - meets every ounce of sorrow buried in her eyes - and he has no words to offer her. No way to convey how much he understands, or how much he wants to erase the horrors she has been through and ease the ache in her heart. But maybe she reads it in his eyes, because she smiles at him - a proper smile, for the first time since they fled the castle together. It is not much, and it fades almost immediately, but Shiro smiles at her in return, and it is better than nothing.

He finishes fixing her slipper, and stands up.

"How's that?" he asks.

She tests out the makeshift shoes.

"It's fine," she says. "I can manage."

Shiro nods, and they set off through the forest once more.

* * *

 

They walk for a few more hours, and as the sun begins to dip low towards the western horizon, the trees around them thin out and the forest floor grows clearer. They press on as the sky turns to warm gold, until they scramble to the top of a ridge of earth and rock and find themselves looking out over green fields instead of trees.

"We made it," Allura says. "This is Zyin province."

Shiro finds a rock and sits down. His muscles ache, and his feet are sore from walking, and his stomach grumbles. But they made it out of the forest.

He takes in the landscape in front of them. Rolling green hills spread away towards the horizon, latticed with the lines of fences and narrow footpaths twisting and turning with the ripples of the land. Patches of thick woodland cling to the sides of the hills, and Shiro spots wisps of woodsmoke rising from the slopes, and the occasional dark shape of a cottage or farm. The land has the look of a place where sheep are more numerous than people; a land where you might walk for days and see barely another living soul.

Allura was right to bring them this way, he thinks. In these quiet hills they can pass unremarked and unnoticed.

Allura sits down beside him on the stone.

"What do we do now?" she asks.

"We disappear," he tells her.

They sit in silence, watching the sunset bathe the landscape in warm hues, and then they stand and head down into the welcoming stillness of the wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the comments on the last chapter (i know i still have some to reply to!) and thanks to all the people who came to tumblr to scream at me about their love of tropes. turns out lots of people love trope salad! <3


	3. rosemary by the lintel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which I Gratuitously Self-Indulge In Even More Tropes, Because I Can

They do not make it far beyond the edge of the forest before they find somewhere to sleep for the night. Allura is tired and footsore, and Shiro's muscles ache, and the sun is already setting as they leave the trees behind them. They make their way down into the first valley and follow the stream until they find a series of stony rapids and a waterfall. The rocks are not steep, and they scramble down without much trouble and find a quiet glade beside the waterfall's pool, surrounded by young trees.

A little way back from the bank, two huge stone slabs lie propped against each other, leaning against a natural outcrop of rock that spears up through the grass. Vines and ivy trail over the rocks, and beneath their shroud of greenery Shiro glimpses strange, ancient carvings marking the stone. It looks like the remnants of some forgotten monument or altar, but the space between the upright slabs is dry and sheltered from the chill of the night time air, and Shiro does not question their good fortune in finding it.

The ground beneath the stones is covered in soft moss and fallen leaves, and the glade is full of wildflowers, curled up for the night. Allura flops down gratefully between the stones and shrugs off her knapsack, and Shiro eases down beside her and leans against one of the rocks.

The glade faces towards the north, and Shiro looks out between the trees to the pool in front of them, gurgling softly in the dark as the water trickles out and continues its journey downstream. On the opposite bank, a grassy slope rises up between clusters of wild heather, and another hill rises beyond - and another, and another, rolling away towards every horizon. The stars come out and wink down at them as they sit and contemplate their position. The scenery is beautiful, but Shiro cannot afford to rest just yet.

"Wait here," he says to Allura. Before he can stand, she reaches for his arm.

"Where are you going?" she asks. She sounds worried.

"You need clothes," Shiro says. "And boots. I'm going to go and see what I can find."

"Right now?"

He shrugs. "It's night time. Everyone will be asleep."

Allura gapes at him, and her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "You're going to _steal_ clothes?"

Shiro bites back a laugh at her horrified expression.

"How did you think I was going to get them?" he asks.

"We can buy some, can't we?"

He shakes his head. "We can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. Not with the Galra looking for you. If we're going to pass unnoticed, then I'm sorry - I need to steal you some clothes."

She looks so utterly crestfallen that Shiro puts his hand over hers.

"Look, if it will make you feel better about it, I'll leave some money behind, alright?"

"No. Not money." Allura pushes up the tattered remains of her sleeve and slips off a pair of gold bangles. Even in the dim light, they have an expensive look about them. Allura holds them out to him.

"Leave these," she says firmly. "It's my clothes. I should pay for them."

Shiro takes the bracelets out of her fingers, and a thought occurs to him. This might actually work better than leaving coins.

"Alright, then I have an idea," he says. "Pull off some of that vine, will you?"

He points at a trailing plant that grows up the side of one of the menhirs. Tiny black flowers bloom along its length, in between slender, star-shaped leaves. Allura pulls off a few strands of it and passes it to him.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asks.

"It's called _alfwen_ ," Shiro tells her. He takes the vines from her hands and begins to twist them around the bangles, taking care to protect the flowers as he goes.

" _Alfwen_ is associated with the fair folk," he tells her as he works. "People say that it grows in places where the fair folk rest. So if someone finds a pair of gold bangles wrapped up in _alfwen_ on their kitchen table…"

"You want them to think it's a gift from the fey?" Allura asks. Shiro nods, without looking up.

"Will that really work?" Allura shifts closer to him, and he glances up to find her watching his hands.

"I grew up in places like this," Shiro says. "Small villages, little isolated farms… people tend to be superstitious. They believe the fey can visit them and cause mischief. Maybe take things. Or occasionally leave blessings. Like, say, gold bangles that are clearly extremely valuable."

"So you think they'll just… accept it? Blame it on fairies?"

Shiro finishes entwining the vines around Allura's bracelets, and ties off the ends as best he can to keep them in place. He wraps the whole thing in a spare piece of wax paper and tucks it into his pocket.

"I think if someone woke up to find some clothes and food missing," he says, "and then they found a couple of solid gold bracelets lying on the kitchen table… I think they might be very grateful to be able to blame it on the fair folk. Rather than having to wonder how such expensive jewellery came to be left in their house, or who else might have left it. I think if they could walk down to the goldsmith in the morning and say they received a gift from the fey, that might be easier for them to deal with than trying to explain why they suddenly have bracelets fit for a princess in their possession."

Allura looks impressed.

"You really think of everything," she says.

Shiro shrugs. "Maybe not everything. But… I try."

He stands up, and to his surprise Allura stands up after him and follows him out of their makeshift shelter and into the glade.

"I should come with you," she says.

Shiro looks at her, standing in her ruined attire, looking earnest and determined. Even in the darkness, he can make out the fierce glint in her eyes.

"It's alright," he says. "Just wait here for me."

She tilts her head to one side. "You think I will slow you down."

"I didn't say that."

"But you were thinking it!" She crosses her arms and glares at him, but rather than being intimidating it's oddly endearing.

"Princess, please," he says. "You're exhausted."

"So are you," she counters. "Let me come with you."

"Princess…"

"I can help! You shouldn't be traipsing around alone in the middle of the night. I can keep watch!"

"Allura, stop," - and he realises, as he says it, that it is the first time he has ever called her by her name. It feels surprisingly intimate - because she has always been _'Princess'_ to him, or _'Your Highness'_. Never _'Allura'_. Not out loud.

She seems to realise it too, because she stops insisting on accompanying him, and her eyes go wide. He thinks she might be angry at him, but instead her face softens ever so slightly. Her shoulders drop just a little, and she uncrosses her arms.

"Just - stay here," Shiro says to her. "You're not exactly dressed for this."

She glances down at her own tattered outfit, and then back up at his face. She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then closes it again.

"I'll be fine on my own," he tells her.

She subsides, finally, and scuffs her toes through the grass.

"Alright," she mutters. "Just… don't be long."

"I'll be back in a few hours," he says. "Get some rest while I'm gone."

She still looks unconvinced, but she lets him go without further complaint, and as he slips out of the glade he glances back to see her settling down in the space between the stones.

* * *

 

He heads east, following the flow of the stream, and looks for a cottage or farmhouse that he can raid for supplies. The moon rises, and the silvery light helps him pick a path along the bank of the stream and up the side of the next valley. Finally, after an hour, he spots the square shapes of a farm on the hill in front of him.

He approaches carefully, sticking to the shadows as much as possible, and creeps along a narrow strip of woodland between two fields until he can see the farm in front of him. A two-storey farmhouse stands in a courtyard, surrounded by wooden outhouses and some stone-built workshops. A low fence surrounds the yard and the buildings, and Shiro spots two dogs chained to a post near the gate. He pauses to consider how to approach this.

The dogs will bark if he tries to enter the courtyard. He knows that much. Out here in the wilds, people keep dogs as working animals - and the two sitting keen-eyed in front of him are clearly here to guard the house in case of night time intruders. He glances at the windows, and spots no lights, or signs of movement. The household is currently asleep, then. He should act before anyone stirs.

He digs around in his pack and pulls out one of the vials. It contains a sleeping drought, used to knock out guards or enemies. But the mixture is known to work on animals too, in a pinch, and the smell of it will hopefully confuse the dogs. It will give him an hour, at most, to get into the farmhouse and out again.

He slips the vial out of its metal casing. The glass is thin and delicate - designed to shatter when thrown at a hard surface. Shiro creeps as close as he dares to the farmyard fence, and then hurls the vial into the courtyard.

It lands a few paces from where the dogs are chained, and the glass breaks. Shiro covers his nose and mouth as the tincture evaporates into a cloud of sweet-smelling vapour. The dogs pant and whine, and sniff around curiously, but within a few seconds their eyes droop and their tails drop and they slump to the floor. All clear.

Shiro runs across the open space between the trees and the farmyard, and vaults the fence. He throws himself into the shadow of one of the workshops, and pauses to catch his breath and assess the situation.

He glances at the guard dogs; the sleeping draught is meant for adult humans, not hounds, and he is momentarily worried that it has harmed the animals. But their sides rise and fall and their ears twitch, and he breathes a sigh of relief. They're just sleeping.

He edges around the courtyard, moving between patches of darkness, until he reaches the farmhouse. It has one large front door - which is probably never used unless literal royalty shows up - and a side door surrounded by a herb garden and various tools and pieces of farm equipment. Shiro edges around to the side door and tries the handle. It is unlocked, and he slides the latch up and slips inside.

He finds himself in the kitchen, which is exactly what he expected. The interior brings back memories of his childhood, and he smiles at the familiarity of it all. A huge iron range where a fire always burns; a wooden table, scrubbed and clean, and pots and pans hanging from racks on the walls. Sacks of flour and potatoes and oats; onions hung up on strings above the shelves.

Shiro glances around at the room. The moonlight through the window illuminates a pair of boots by the door, and an empty burlap sack lying under the table that he can use to carry out whatever he needs.

He is caught uncomfortably between the need for silence and the need for speed. If he takes too long inside the house, the dogs will awaken and detect his presence. But if he makes too much noise, he might disturb the family sleeping upstairs. He moves as swiftly as he dares, but every small noise seems exaggerated in the stillness of the sleeping farmhouse, and he resolves to be done as quickly as possible.

He crosses the kitchen and finds another door that opens onto a workroom and storage area. A basket of laundry, neatly folded, lies on the worktop, and Shiro spies an iron on the rack of shelves, along with various spare kitchen items and jars of honey and preserves. This space must function as a laundry room of sorts.

Clothes. That's the most important thing right now. Allura is wearing nothing but rags at this point, and without a decent, warm outfit, she won't make it far in the wilds. So: clothes first, and the boots from by the kitchen door that look to be about the right size, and then anything else that can reasonably be taken.

Shiro roots through the laundry basket, and finds a tunic and a pair of leggings that seem thick and well-made. They look a little too big for Allura, but some more digging in the cupboards turns up a soft leather belt that will work to keep the outfit in place. He finds a fresh shirt for himself amongst the clothes, and a couple of warm vests that will serve them well against the lingering chill of spring. He shoves all of it into the burlap sack and then glances around.

There is a spare cape hanging on a peg by the door, and he bundles that up too, because they won't get far sharing one cloak. He digs through the drawers and finds a pair of thick woollen socks, which he stuffs into his pocket. The cupboards reveal very little of use - they contain mostly household items and spare jars and dishes. Shiro does find a small box of medicines, and he considers taking some - but he hesitates. Out here, there are probably few apothecaries, and remedies might be expensive. And they are the kind of thing that is only missed when someone needs them, and goes to the box to find them unexpectedly gone… Shiro closes the box and leaves the medicines untouched.

One shelf contains hair oils and lotions for softening the skin, none of which are much use, but Shiro scrabbles through the jars until he finds what he is looking for: a clay jar of _henna_ dye. He wraps it carefully in the clothes and stows it into the sack.

He stands up and slips back into the kitchen, and eases the door closed behind him. It shuts with a click that seems to echo like a clap of thunder, and Shiro braces for any noise from above. But the household does not stir, and he lets out his breath in a rush.

He crosses the room and opens the door to the pantry. Shelves of neatly-stacked food greet him: dried meats and smoked fish, a loaf of bread, a basket of eggs, some pies and pastries, a wheel of cheese. Vegetables lie stacked in baskets on the floor; dried herbs and fruits sit in jars on the wall.

He resists the urge to shove all of it in the sack, and forces himself to push past his own hunger and think rationally about how much he can carry and how much of it will be useful. The wheel of cheese will spoil after a few hours in the sunlight, so that's no use. The jams and dried fruits are impractical to carry, and not sustaining enough to be worth taking. Eggs will break, and he has no means to cook them anyway.

In the end, he helps himself to a meat pie and the loaf of bread, and leaves the rest of the perishable food. The preserved meats and fish, on the other hand, might be lifesavers if they cannot find food in the wild. He finds a clean cloth and wraps up as much of the meat and fish as he can carry, and stows it in the top of the sack.

Then he closes the pantry door and stands in the middle of the kitchen, his mind racing.

Does he have everything he came for? He mentally runs through the list: clothes, the henna dye, some food… he glances around for anything else. But the sack is already nearly full, and he is all too aware of the family sleeping upstairs. They might stir from their first sleep at any moment, and hear him rustling around downstairs. If they catch him in the act, no amount of _alfwen_ will convince them that he is a fairy come to give them his blessings.

Enough. He has taken enough, and even though he is leaving payment, Shiro still feels a pang of guilt over the theft. Over the inconvenience, more than anything else: someone will wake up to find themselves without boots, and someone will discover that the loaf of bread set aside for breakfast is missing from the pantry. He shakes his head, and reminds himself that this is necessary. But still… he wishes he could explain, or leave some message to apologise. But the gold bangles are the best he can do.

He takes the little package out of his pocket and unwraps Allura's bracelets, and sets them down gently in the middle of the kitchen table. The tiny _alfwen_ flowers glimmer in the dark, as if they are dusted in silver powder that sparkles in the moonlight. They _look_ like a gift from the fey, at least, and that is the best he can do.

He glances out of the window. Clouds scud across the moon, and the stars shine bright in the sky. The dogs twitch and stir in their sleep, and it is time to go. He cannot afford to linger.

He picks up the boots from beside the door and lets himself out.

He stops beside the doorway, and glances up at the eaves. A sprig of rosemary hangs from a small hook on the wall - a gift for the fey, he realises. He looks down between the stacked up hoes and rakes and finds a saucer of honey tucked up against the wall. Herbs and honey, his grandmother used to say. The fair folk take herbs and honey, and leave blessings.

Shiro reaches up and takes the sprig of rosemary from the wall. He tucks it away in his pocket, in place of the bangles. He picks up the saucer, and scrapes off the honey with his finger. It tastes like lavender and wildflowers, and after days of nothing but soldiers' hard rations, it is the most heavenly food imaginable.

He leaves the empty saucer by the door, and slips out of the farmyard and away into the night.

* * *

On his way back to the glade, Shiro wonders if the family will believe that their midnight visitor was truly one of the fair folk. After all, what would a fairy want with clothes and boots? Why would they steal bread and pies? But whether they believe it or not, he has no doubt that the value of the bracelets will more than make up for the items he stole. It is just a question of whether they awaken tomorrow and march out looking for thieves, or whether they stay quiet and tell no one and quietly accept the gold that was left them in the night.

It is not really theft, he reminds himself. Even if he still feels bad for the trouble it will undoubtedly cause.

The trek back to the glade seems to take longer than the journey to the farmhouse, because by now Shiro is so weary his vision is blurring and he finds it hard to concentrate. He puts a tiny amount of the _tychin_ powder on his tongue, and that keeps him awake enough to make it back to their campsite without falling asleep on the riverbank with a sack full of stolen goods.

As he comes around the last hill and spies the glade a little way ahead of him, he also spots a ribbon of smoke winding up into the night, and the tell-tale orange glow of a fire. With a jolt, he realises that Allura must have gathered wood and kindling and lit a fire for them - and he has a sudden, horrible thought that she will set the entire glade alight, somehow.

But when he comes closer to the narrow band of trees that surrounds the clearing, he realises that he worried over nothing. Allura has set up the campfire perfectly: a ring of stones on a clear patch of grass, the moss and leaves carefully pushed aside to prevent the fire spreading, and a few thick branches burning gently in the night. He feels a strange surge of pride. He will make a wanderer out of her yet, he thinks. If she can light a fire, that's already a good start.

Allura sits on a fallen log, watching the flames and poking them with a stick, but when Shiro enters the glade her eyes dart immediately to his face. She stands up, and for a moment Shiro thinks she is about to rush over to him: her face lights up with something like relief, and she smiles at him.

"You're back," she says - and it is definitely relief, because he can also hear it in her voice.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" he asks.

"You were gone a long time."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

What must she have thought, sitting here alone in the dark? If he never came back, she would have to continue on alone, without help. No wonder she was worried. She must have been scared of what would happen to her if he didn't return.

"I hope you don't mind," Allura goes on. She gestures at the crackling flames in front of her. "I know you said a fire was risky, but I saw some others on the hillside, so I figured one more wouldn't attract too much attention, and I was just so cold…"

"No, it's fine," Shiro tells her, before she rambles on into oblivion. She looks relieved at his approval, and sits back down on her log. Shiro glances at the surrounding hillsides - and there are indeed tiny pinpricks of red light here and there amongst the greenery, and the occasional wisp of smoke escaping up towards the stars. There must be shepherds in the hills, he thinks, or hunters and woodsmen roaming the wilds.

"You were right," he tells Allura. "The other fires mean ours won't stand out. It's good - we can finally stop sitting in the cold."

He crosses the glade and sits down on the log next to the Princess. She watches him the whole way, her eyes fixed to his face, and she looks like she wants to smile but is keeping herself in check.

"So I did alright?" she asks, as he places the sack down beside her.

He looks up at her, and her eyes shining in the firelight, and the strange intensity of her expression. She toys with the stick in her hands and waits for his reply.

"You did great," he tells her - and then she does smile, and looks away from him, and makes a great show of poking at the fire. In the darkness, he cannot tell if she is blushing.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now," he says. "You didn't have to stay awake and wait for me."

"I just wanted to make sure you got back safe," she says.

"I think it's supposed to be the other way around," Shiro jokes, as he roots around in the sack. " _I'm_ supposed to be the one looking out for _you_ , remember?"

"Shiro," she says, and he looks up at the sound of his name, and the way she fills it with so much warmth, somehow.

"We're out here all alone," Allura goes on. "We have no other friends or allies. So it stands to reason we have to look out for each other. You can't keep carrying me around like deadweight."

He takes in the seriousness of her expression.

"Is that why you wanted to come with me?" he asks. "You think you're deadweight?"

She looks away from him, and goes back to poking the fire. Sparks jump up from the logs and dance away into the night.

"I just don't like feeling useless," Allura says quietly.

"You're not useless," Shiro tells her. "But you are right. We will have to look out for each other in the wilds. If we're both going to stay alive and make it to Naxum… I will need your help."

It's the right thing to say, apparently, because Allura turns back to him, her eyes bright and determined.

"Just tell me what to do," she says. "I will help. I promise."

"Alright. Well, for the time being, I have an incredibly important task for you."

Allura nods, and her face is so stern and serious that Shiro has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. He pulls the pair of woolly socks out of his pocket and holds them up to her.

"I need you to put these on your feet. Immediately."

She stares at the socks in his hand. And then she gives him that look that's somewhere between annoyance and amusement: forehead pulled into a frown, her lips pressed firmly together - but her eyes sparkle with unspoken mirth, nonetheless. She reaches up to take the socks out of his grasp.

"I don't remember you being quite this cheeky in Oriande," she mutters.

Shiro grins at her, and she very pointedly ignores him and sets about pulling her battered slippers off her feet. She makes a face as the rags come loose, and she tosses them into the fire.

"Farewell, slippers," she says wistfully. She pulls the socks onto her feet, and wiggles her toes.

"Better?" Shiro asks.

She gives him another arch look.

"You tell me," she says sweetly. "I await your assessment of how well I did on this highly critical task."

He bites back a laugh and looks at the fire.

"I suppose I deserve that," he mutters.

"Yes. You do."

He turns back to the sack in front of him, because he doesn't quite know what to say to her. At least she seems more cheerful, which is a good sign after everything she's been through. He pulls out the tunic he took for her and hands it over.

"Put this on," he says. "Over your clothes. We can sort through the rest of the stuff tomorrow, but for now we should get some sleep."

Allura stands up and pulls the tunic over her head. As he suspected, it's a little baggy on her, but it will keep her warmer than the remains of her dress. He stands up and banks the fire with as many stones as he can find, and drags the burlap sack into the sheltered space between the ancient menhirs.

Allura smartly built the fire close to the shelter's opening, and the space underneath the rock slabs is already noticeably warmer. Allura curls up under his cloak, her head resting on her knapsack, and Shiro lies down a few feet away from her with the spare cloak draped over him. The little hollow space feels snug and warm, and the only sound is the crackle of the fire in the entrance and the rustle of the leaves as Allura shifts her position. Shiro closes his eyes and lets himself relax.

"Shiro?"

Allura's voice rouses him from the verge of sleep, and he opens his eyes.

"Hmmm?"

"Can you… can you lie next to me?"

He looks over at her. She lies with her back to him, curled in on herself, and for some reason she doesn't turn around even as she asks him to come nearer.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"It's not that," she says. "It's just… I'm scared I'm going to freeze again. In the night."

Shiro blinks. He hadn't realised quite how frightening that whole experience had been for her - waking up freezing cold, shivering uncontrollably, too groggy to force herself to get up and move. She's worried about the cold, even though they have a fire going. Maybe it's not rational, but… she has never had to sleep outside.

He gets up and repositions himself beside her, and lies down once again with his chest flush to her back.

"You won't freeze," he says. He pulls the cloak over his body and wraps his arm around her waist. "The fire will keep us warm."

"I know, it's just…"

"It's alright," he tells her. "I'm here."

She lets out a huff of breath that might be a sigh of relief. She reaches for his hand in the dark, and threads her fingers between his.

"Thank you," she whispers.

There's a vulnerability to her voice that makes Shiro's heart ache.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers back. "I promise."

She squeezes his hand for a moment, and then her breathing evens out and she drifts off into sleep.

* * *

 

Shiro awakes with the dawn, and his first thought is to check on Allura. But her skin is warm to the touch, and her breathing is even and light. He gets up as quietly as he can, so as not to wake her, and steps out of the shelter into the morning sunshine.

A chill hangs in the air, but the early rays of the sun are already flooding the earth with warmth, and apart from a few white scraps of cloud the sky is otherwise clear. Shiro gathers up some fallen branches and rebuilds last night's fire, until it is once again crackling and warm.

Allura gets up not long afterwards, and wanders out of the shelter looking bleary-eyed and confused, the cloak still wrapped around her shoulders. She sits down beside Shiro, and he hands her half of the meat pie and some of the bread he took from the farmhouse. She bites into it gratefully.

"I miss real food," she says, around a mouthful of pastry.

Shiro lets her eat in silence, and when she is done he pulls the clothes and the _henna_ dye from the burlap sack.

"These are the other clothes I got for you," he says.

Allura sips from the canteen and runs a thoughtful eye over what will be her new outfit.

"They look warm," she says.

"They should be. Hopefully you won't get as cold wearing these. And the boots, of course."

She nods, and sets the canteen down at her feet. She reaches for the jar of _henna_ , and inspects the contents.

"You want me to dye my hair?" she asks.

Shiro takes a deep breath. Now for the difficult part.

"Yes," he says. "But you also need to cut it off."

Her hand flies to her hair, as if she is instinctively trying to protect it. Shiro's heart sinks. But he absolutely cannot let her keep her hair this long and thick - not out here in the wilds. And not just because it's impractical.

"You want me to cut my hair?" Allura asks. "Why?"

"It's too distinctive," he says. "It marks you out as one of the Blessed. The Galra will be looking for someone with long white hair, so if this disguise is going to work… your hair needs to be short and dark."

Her face falls. She looks utterly devastated at the prospect - but this is something Shiro cannot compromise on.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It's the only way for you to pass unrecognised in the wilds."

Allura meets his gaze, her hand still clutched into the lengths of her hair, and her eyes dart from his face to the jar of dye and back again.

"Alright," she says quietly, but she looks absolutely wretched about it.

Allura sets the _henna_ jar down and goes about parting her hair into two long sections. She ties off the thick curls with rags from her dress, so that the silvery-white strands will not fly away in the breeze and give away their position. Shiro hands her his knife, and she stands up and takes a deep breath and holds the knife up beside her neck.

She hesitates. Her lip trembles, and she blows out a breath and closes her eyes. She holds the thick ponytail in one hand and the knife in the other, just touching her hair, but she does not cut it. She can't.

A sob escapes her. She drops the knife to the ground and covers her mouth with her hand, but she cannot keep back the tears that spill down her cheeks.

It's too much. He asked too much of her.

Shiro stands up without thinking and crosses to her side. He takes hold of her shaking shoulders - gently, softly - but before he can say anything, Allura buries her face in his chest and weeps. He wraps his arms around her, because what else can he do? Her hands clutch at his tunic and the tears pour out of her, and he holds her close and strokes her back and says nothing, because there is nothing to say.

This is about more than just hair, he thinks. Allura was able to keep it long because she is a princess, because she is royalty - it was a mark of her status that she could grow out long, thick curls and wear them loose around her shoulders. She did not have to worry about it getting in the way of work or chores. And now they are out in the wilderness, and everything has been taken away from her; and here he is, asking her to let go of one more thing.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I wish there was another way."

Allura sniffles into his chest and then looks up at him, her eyes still shiny with tears.

"It just hit me, all of a sudden," she says. "We're really not going back."

"We _will_ go back," Shiro tells her. "This is just temporary. We do what it takes to survive, but we will come back one day and set this right."

She nods at his words, and pulls away from him. He lets his arms drop from her waist and steps back, and Allura scrubs the tears from her cheeks and picks up the knife.

"It's temporary," she whispers to herself. She straightens her back, sets the knife to her hair, and begins to saw through the long strands.

It takes a minute or two, because her hair is so thick, but the first ponytail drops to the grass, and then the second. Allura hands the knife back to Shiro, and gathers up her hair in her arms. She stares at it for a moment, and then tosses the whole bundle into the fire and watches as it catches alight. A few more tears spill out of her eyes, but she scrubs them away with the back of her hand and turns to Shiro.

"How's that?" she asks.

Shiro tilts his head to the side as he looks at her. Without the length to weigh it down, her remaining hair springs up into tight curls that make a halo around her head.

"It looks like a cloud," he says, and then wonders why he said something that ridiculous.

Allura's face falls. "Does it look silly?"

"No! No. It looks nice."

She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but she runs her fingers through the curls to tidy them up as much as possible, and then reaches for the jar of _henna_ dye. She pulls off the tunic and lays it carefully aside, and frowns at the jar in front of her.

"I don't really know how to use it," Shiro says. "So I hope you do."

"I do," Allura says. "It's just… I haven't used _henna_ on my hair in years."

She sits down on the log by the fire and begins to scoop the thick muddy paste out of its jar and rub it into her hair. Shiro watches her as she runs the henna down the length of her curls and works from the front of her head to the back, until her entire scalp is covered in the sweet-smelling paste. She looks down at her hands, now caked in the remains of the dye.

"Here," Shiro says. He picks up the canteen of water and moves to crouch in front of her so he can pour the water over her hands. She rinses off the muddy residue and gives him a tight smile.

"Thank you," she says. "Did I miss any spots?"

He glances up at her face, and his lips twitch as a he fights back a grin.

"Yeah. Hang on."

He dips one finger into the jar of _henna_ and reaches out to trace the shape of her eyebrow with the paste. Allura blinks in shock, but her smile widens as he applies the dye to her other brow and pulls back to look at his handiwork.

"I forgot about that," Allura says. She massages her brows with her finger to work in the paste, and then wipes her hands on her skirt.

Shiro seals the _henna_ jar and packs it carefully into his knapsack. It is still half full, and the dye might come in handy further down the road if they need to touch up Allura's disguise. Whilst Allura waits for the _henna_ to set in her hair, they go through the rest of the contents of the sack, and divide up the dried meats between them so that they each carry half.

"It's important to carry your own food supply," Shiro tells Allura as they work. "Just in case we get separated."

"I thought you were just trying to make your pack lighter," she says, but beneath the joke there's a hint of worry in her tone. She doesn't like the idea of being out here on her own.

After around half an hour, the dye is ready to come off, and Allura eyes the waterfall's pool longingly. The sun has risen enough to cast the glade in a gentle warmth, and the water sparkles and shimmers in the sunlight.

"It would be nice to bathe before I change into fresh clothes," Allura says.

"Go for it," Shiro replies. "You need to rinse out your hair anyway."

She hesitates. "How, uh-- how does this work, exactly? We don't have any towels."

Of course. She has never bathed outside before - not like this. Pleasure trips to the royal summer house don't count.

Shiro shrugs. "You sit by the fire until you get dry."

"What - naked?"

"It doesn't take long if the fire's warm enough. And you don't want to be putting on damp clothes."

Allura frowns at him, and her gaze darts from the pool to the camp fire, a few paces away across the glade.

"I won't look, if that's what you're worried about," Shiro tells her. "But if you want to bathe, that's how it's done."

She looks down at herself: at the ragged remains of her dress, stained and stinking, and the mud and grime that covers her skin. Her eyes stray once again to the shimmering pool, and the allure of the clear water.

"Alright," she says. "But - go and wait in the shelter."

"As you wish, Princess," Shiro says. He turns to leave, but before he can take three paces Allura calls out to him again, and he turns around to find her fidgeting with her bodice.

"Actually… can you stay nearby?" she asks. "I don't want to be out here by myself. Especially not… you know…"

"Of course," he says. He finds a rock near the bank of the pool and sits down, and very deliberately looks away from Allura and the water.

"No peeking," she says. He hears the sounds of her stripping out of her clothes, and the rip of fabric as her dress finally gives up the ghost. The rags land near his feet, and he gathers them up in a pile so he can throw them on the fire later. Then he hears the splash of water, and Allura's sharp intake of breath.

"Princess?"

"It's just cold," she tells him.

Shiro hears another splash, and a string of muttered exclamations to the Goddess about the icy water, and then the sounds of Allura washing herself. He watches the fire on the other side of the glade and waits for her to be done. After a moment, another bundle of damp cloth comes flying out of the pool and lands near his feet, and he realises it is Allura's undergarments. He clears his throat, and stares at the trees instead.

"You can turn around," Allura says. "I'm under the water."

The instinct to treat her suggestions like commands prompts him to turn around automatically. The sunlight reflects off the pool, making the water shimmer, and so all Shiro can make out of Allura's body under the pool's surface is the general vague shape of her. She runs her hands through her hair as she teases out the curls, and the tops of her shoulders are just visible where the water moves and ripples around her. Shiro watches a drop of water run down her cheek and drip off her jawline and he thinks: _turning around was a bad idea_.

She has always been beautiful, of course. That fact was never in doubt. Everyone in Altea knows it, and Princess Allura's beauty is a source of pride and affection within the kingdom. Shiro has seen her in some of her grandest moments, at royal functions or diplomatic dinners, dressed in all her finery - and he has admired her poise and grace, just like everyone else. He has seen her in quiet times, in the royal chambers, and noted that she is still pretty even with her hair falling out of a messy bun and her feet up on the sofa.

But it was always a simple observation of objective fact. She was beautiful the way the stars and moon are beautiful: no one would question you for saying it, but at the same time, it was a beauty to be admired from afar and never touched.

But they have been touching - out here, in the wilds, in the cold and dark. He has taken her hand. Lent her his arm. He has held her at night to keep her warm and make her feel safe. She is no longer beyond his reach - not out here, where they only have each other. Their entire reality has shifted, so that now, when Shiro notices that she is still pretty even after days of exhaustion and fear; when he realises that the inherent loveliness of her face still shines through even though her eyes are dark with sadness; when he observes that short hair suits her, that it makes her look less regal but more playful… He is no longer simply taking note of abstract truths. She is no longer an unreachable celestial being, and his place now is not simply that of a passive observer, regarding her from an insurmountable distance.

He really should not have turned around, he thinks.

"Do you have a plan for how we get to Naxum?" Allura asks him, and he seizes on the question as something to focus on other than the way the water laps at her collarbone.

"For now, we just need to head north," he says. "We should avoid people as much as possible, and try to use smaller paths rather than the main roads."

"Shouldn't we travel at night?"

He shakes his head. "It's easy to get lost in the dark, and it's harder to avoid dangers. Plus - in places like this, people are used to seeing travellers going past during the day. Lots of people move around to look for work, or for hunting or trading. But people sneaking around at night causes suspicion."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Allura says. She wrings out her hair, and wipes the water from her face.

"When I went to the farm last night, I saw dogs in the yard," Shiro goes on. "People on small farms tend to keep guard dogs that bark in the night if they sense strangers nearby."

"So you want to travel in broad daylight?"

"I know it seems counter-intuitive. But you're in disguise. If anyone sees us, they'll just think we're regular travellers passing through."

Allura nods. "Alright. If you think it's for the best."

She ducks her shoulders under the water one last time, and then glances up at Shiro sitting on the bank.

"I'm coming out," she says. "It's too cold in here."

Shiro turns away again and faces towards the waterfall. He hears her splash towards the bank and climb out of the pool, and then her footsteps recede towards the fire.

Shiro glances at the pool. As cold as it may be, it's still tempting. His skin still stinks of the redmoss, and he feels grimy all over, and the thought of being submerged in freezing water is suddenly oddly appealing. He should bathe too, whilst he has the opportunity. He stands up and strips off his tunic.

"What are you doing?" Allura says behind him. She sounds almost alarmed.

"I'm going to bathe too," he says. He resists the urge to glance over his shoulder at her. "You can look away if you want."

Allura says nothing, and he assumes she is averting her gaze. He pulls off his trousers and undergarments and steps into the pool.

He hisses as the water hits his skin. It is icy cold; no wonder Allura didn't linger. He forces himself to march into the pool and duck his shoulders under, but even so he comes up shivering. He bathes quickly and rinses out his undergarments, and the water helps to remove most of the dirt and smell from his skin and hair. He scrubs himself down as much as possible and then heads back to the bank.

"I'm getting out," he calls. He keeps his eyes fixed on the grass, and concentrates on picking up his clothes and carrying them back to the campfire. He hears Allura clear her throat, but he keeps his eyes on the ground and sits on a log a little way from her.

A breathless silence falls over them, and Shiro keeps his hands in his lap and forces himself not to fidget or look in Allura's direction. After a moment, she stands up, and Shiro hears the rustle of clothes as she pulls on her undergarments.

"You can look," she says. "I'm not _completely_ naked anymore."

Shiro glances over at her. She stands in front of the fire in her underwear, twisting and turning to expose her whole body to the warmth of the flames. The tiny pink marks of the Blessed really _do_ cover her entire body - curious, twirling symbols that adorn her back and belly, that swirl around her thighs and her upper arms.

Shiro looks away from her, and silently wills his underwear to dry faster so that he can get dressed. Allura finishes warming herself up and pulls on the rest of her clothes. He catches glimpses of her legs and feet as she pulls on the leggings, and hears some muttering as she tugs the vest and tunic over her head. Finally, his clothes dry enough for him to put them back on, and he stands up and hastily turns his back on Allura so that he can at least partly redress.

He didn't take trousers for himself, because the soft leathers of his guard uniform are better than anything he could find in the farmhouse. He pulls them on and buckles his belt - and then realises, belatedly, that his clean shirt and vest are still in the burlap sack. Which is next to Allura.

He turns around, and his movements appear to draw Allura's attention, because she looks up from fastening the belt around her waist. Her hands go still for a moment, and her eyes dart from his chest to his abdomen and then to his face, where she catches his gaze. Her eyes snap back to her belt, and she suddenly seems very intent on tying it and tucking it in _just so_. Shiro wonders if he made her uncomfortable; and rather than ask, he simply crosses to the sack and pulls out the vest and shirt. He dresses as quickly as possible, so that Allura won't feel uneasy.

"How do I look?"

Her voice makes him turn around. She stands there, now fully dressed, and looks up at him with something like shyness in her eyes. He glances over her disguise.

The _henna_ dye has turned her hair a rich reddish-brown, and it curls up around her head like a cloud. The colour and the length suit her; there is a sweet simplicity to it that seems to accentuate the delicate beauty of her face. He has never noticed just how full her lips are; or how much her eyes sparkle like gems held up to the light. But those are things he cannot say to her. He turns his gaze to her clothes instead, before he makes a fool of himself. She has the dark leggings tucked into the brown boots, which seem to be a comfortable fit. The tunic - a pleasant slate grey - is a little big on her, but with the belt it doesn't look so bad. The sleeves, however, are noticeably too long.

"Here," he says.

He steps up to her and rolls up the sleeves a few times.

"Better?" he asks.

"Thank you," she says. "Does it look bad?"

He wonders what she's worried about. He has the sudden strange urge to tell her that she always looks beautiful, but he tucks that thought away in the corner of his mind marked ' _very bad ideas_ '.

"No, it looks fine," he tells her instead. "You look like you belong, which is the most important thing."

"I wish I had something to tie back my hair," she mumbles. "The curls will fall in my eyes."

"We can try and find a market town in a few days," Shiro says. "So you can buy something there. What did you do with your jewellery?"

She shows him the pile of gold bracelets and necklaces on the log behind her.

"I took them off," she says. "I thought they might be too conspicuous."

"Alright. We'll wrap them up in the bags and we can sell them if we need to."

He finds a clean scrap of her dress and hands it to her so she can pack up the jewellery, and then he throws the rest of her ruined outfit into the fire. His own tunic he bundles up and stuffs into the top of the saddlebag - despite being ripped at the front, it will still do in a pinch, especially if the weather turns cold. He also folds up the burlap sack and ties it to the straps of his knapsack.

He turns to find Allura sitting on the log, the pile of jewellery lying in her lap on top of the scrap of cloth. She holds a crystal pendant in her hands and runs her fingers over the clear white stone, over and over.

"Princess?"

"This was my mother's," she says quietly. "She gave it to me the day of my first Blessing ceremony. I went to the Temple of Althenia and performed the Ritual of Cleansing, and she was so proud she gave me this."

"You should wear it," Shiro says, and Allura looks up at him, her eyes heavy with sadness.

"It's just one necklace," he goes on. "No one will see it under your tunic."

She looks back at the crystal in her hands, and says nothing. Shiro sits down beside her, and very gently takes the necklace out of her hands.

"Turn around," he says softly.

She looks up and holds his gaze for a long moment, and he thinks she might protest or argue, but she shifts on the log until she has her back to him, and dips her head. Shiro hangs the pendant around her neck, and his arms brush her shoulders as he fastens the clasp and settles the chain against her skin. Her fingers curl around the crystal, and then she tucks it away under her tunic and packs up the rest of the jewellery into a tight bundle.

"You can keep wearing my cloak," Shiro tells her. "The one I took from the farmhouse is probably too long for you."

Allura nods. "I will pray to the Goddess again before we set off."

She lays out the cloak on the grass and kneels down to begin her ritual prayers. Shiro watches her out of the corner of his eye as he buckles on his sword belt and pins the new cape around his shoulders. The pleasant sound of Allura's chanting fills the glade, and he finds himself smiling. When she is done, Allura once more steps up to him to press her hands to his chest and flood his veins with the warmth of the Goddess's Blessings. Her breath seems to hitch a little as she places her hands on him, but her smile to him is soft. He helps her pull on her knapsack over her cloak, and then they set off into the wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the doggos are okay, don't worry. they just slept for a bit and had fun doggo dreams.
> 
> did you know that people used to wake up in the middle of the night for an hour or so and just chill and maybe have snacks and then sleep again? it's called first and second sleep, and it vanished after the invention of electric lights because they screw with our natural circadian rhythms. look it up.
> 
> also, i borrowed an old English tradition for this chapter, which is people literally never using the front door and always going in via the kitchen door. i'm sure it's a tradition in other parts of the world as well. feel free to tell me about it on tumblr (@smolsarcasticraspberry)
> 
> as always, thanks for all the comments! <3 <3 <3


	4. gladiolus in the wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which i take a break from tropes to indulge in my other obsession: WORLDBUILDING!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why have i written another 6000 word chapter of this four days after the last one i posted? that's a good question and the answer is: i don't have impulse control! i'm posting this at 2am! YOU'RE HECKIN WELCOME SCOOB!

They head north and west, away from the farm where Shiro stole the clothes the night before. Although the chances of being caught thieving are slim, Shiro still keeps them to quiet lanes and shaded stretches of woodland, so as to avoid being seen as much as possible. The weather remains mild, and they make good progress. Each new hill and rise reveals more fields and farms, and small coppices in the valleys, and lively streams that sparkle in the sunshine. Sheep and goats graze on the slopes, and birds wheel overhead and drift on the warm air.

"I never appreciated just how beautiful the Northern Wilds are," Allura says, as they pause on a hilltop to assess the way ahead. "I've visited the cities here, but we rarely came out into the countryside."

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Shiro says. They make their way along the edge of a field and down towards the valley below. Sheep bleat at them as they pass, and bees buzz around them, questing for wildflowers hidden in the grass.

"You know, for this disguise to really work, you'll need a new name," Shiro says, as they reach the foot of the valley and pause to refill their canteens in the stream. "I can't keep calling you 'Princess Allura'. Someone might overhear."

Allura sits on a rock near the bank and sips her water while she mulls this over.

"I never thought of that," she says. "I suppose I should pick a code name of sorts."

"Any ideas?"

She looks stumped. She takes another swig from her canteen and watches the water dancing by.

"I don't know," she says quietly. "I can't think of anything."

"How about _Hime-sama_?" Shiro suggests. "It means 'Princess' in Hon-sun, but out here most people will just assume it's a name."

Allura looks up at him, her eyes sparkling blue, and a tiny smile tugs at her lips.

" _Hime-sama_?" she repeats, as if she's trying it out for herself. "Alright. I like it."

She packs the canteen back into her knapsack and stands up.

"Is that where you grew up? In Nyhon Province?" Allura asks, as they set off up the next hill. "Or did you grow up in Oriande?"

"No, I grew up in Nyhon," Shiro tells her.

"I've heard you speak Hon-sun in the castle," Allura goes on. "To some of the other guards."

"A lot of the soldiers come from there. It's one of the poorest provinces in Altea, so a lot of people leave to look for work elsewhere."

Allura falls silent, and for a moment Shiro thinks she will drop the topic. But she speaks again, and her voice is thoughtful.

"My father used to talk about Nyhon Province a lot," she says. "He always wondered why it did not benefit so much from the Blessings of the Goddess. He tried to send some of the most powerful Blessed there to heal the land, but it never seemed to make much difference."

"It's because all the Temples are in the valleys," Shiro says, before he can stop himself. "But in Nyhon, many people live up in the mountains. The Rituals of Renewal only help the lowlands."

"Ley lines are always weaker in the mountains," Allura says, behind him. "Often the lines diverge around the peaks, because the rock disturbs the flow of energy. It makes it harder to suffuse the land with quintessence."

"There you have it, then," Shiro says. "You need to find a way to deliver the Rituals in the mountain villages."

"Can't people move into the valleys?" she asks. "They would be closer to the Temples."

Shiro pauses by a low fence that runs across the path, and Allura stops behind him. He takes in the earnest expression on her face.

"It's not that simple," he says. "People in Nyhon have lived in the mountains for centuries. It's part of our culture. Many of our traditions are bound to the mountain peaks. You can't just expect people to leave everything and move, just because it's more convenient for Altea."

He climbs the stile over the fence and hops down onto the grass. Allura follows him, looking thoughtful, and Shiro holds out his hand to help her down the other side.

"I never knew about this," she says. "The leaders of Nyhon Province are very secretive about their culture and traditions. I didn't know there was so much importance attached to the mountains."

"It's because many of our traditions are to do with religion," Shiro says. He drops her hand, and they set off again up the path. "When Nyhon was brought into the kingdom of Altea, we were told we had to worship the Goddess so that our land would benefit from her Blessings. And we do. But Nyhon has other spiritual practices as well, and many of them date back centuries. We didn't want to give them up."

He glances behind him to find Allura staring at him.

"So the people are afraid that their traditions will be banned?" she asks.

Shiro shrugs, and keeps walking.

"My grandmother always told us to keep our own rituals secret. Because if people found out about them, they would call us primitive, or make fun of us for it. She always thought Altea would outlaw our religious practices if they knew about them."

He wonders, belatedly, why he's telling her all this. Perhaps because she has trusted him so far, and it feels like he can trust her in return. Or maybe it's just that she's the first Altean royal who's ever really asked about it.

"And do people make fun of you?" she asks.

He thinks back to the little shrine he made on the windowsill in the barracks at the castle, and the way some people used to stare at it but very pointedly not say anything. And he thinks about how the Hanyin soldiers always want to burn incense whenever one of their comrades dies - because that is what you do in Nyhon, and they might be far from home but they can still keep that small part of themselves alive and alight - and he thinks about the way the other troops would roll their eyes at the practice, or the commanders who told them not to waste time on 'blasphemous nonsense' that would 'offend the Goddess'.

"Sometimes," he says, quietly.

Allura puts her hand on his arm and pulls him around. He stops walking and turns to find her staring up at him, brows furrowed, concern dancing in her eyes.

"Do you think I would treat you like that?" she says.

He holds her gaze. "I don't know. Would you?"

Her frown deepens. "Of course not."

He wants to believe her. But it is an easy thing to say, and a hard thing to act upon, and she has a duty to their whole country and not just to him.

"I suppose we'll find out when you're queen," he says. He turns back to the path, and keeps walking.

They reach the top of the hill in silence, and pause under a line of trees to catch their breath and decide on their next path ahead. Shiro risks a glance at the Princess, and finds her looking thoughtful and distant. He wonders if he spoke out of turn when she asked him about Nyhon, and if she is angry at him for his insolence. He shifts his pack on his shoulders, and sets off again along a footpath that runs along the ridge of the hill towards the north. The track is wider than most, and to his surprise Allura falls into step beside him instead of following behind.

"Should I tell you a secret the Master Sages do not like to be known?" she says. She holds a tiny pink wildflower in her hand and twirls it around by the stem.

"Go for it," Shiro says, because in spite of himself he's curious.

"It does not much matter if some people in Altea do not worship the Goddess," she says. "The Sages like to insist that we must all pray to her, otherwise she will not bless the land. But in fact it is not necessary. As long as a few people in every community perform the Rites, the Goddess's blessings will still be felt."

"But they're always so insistent that everyone must perform the Rituals. Otherwise the Goddess will be angry."

"They are wrong to do so," Allura says quietly. "I am not sure why they insist on it, but it is untrue."

Shiro glances at her - because that last comment is a dangerous statement in Altea, where the Master Sages of the Goddess have almost as much power as the royal family. Allura toys with the flower in her hand, touching the delicate petals with her fingers, lost in her own contemplations.

Power and influence, Shiro thinks. That is probably why the Sages say that. But he keeps the thought to himself.

"There are plenty of people in Altea who do not regularly pray to the Goddess," Allura goes on. "People whose only religious observance is one of the public Rituals, once a year. And they only go because afterwards there is a fair and food and fireworks. And the land is still blessed, isn't it? The magic still works."

"I suppose so," Shiro concedes.

"So then what does it matter if some people wish to offer different prayers? If they follow another spiritual path? The Goddess will not mind."

"You're sure about that?" Shiro says. He's only half-joking. Allura twirls the flower in her fingers again, and then tucks it behind her ear, where it peeks out between her curls.

"I read once that the Goddess will bless Altea even if just one person offers Her prayers," she says. "That's a wonderful thought, isn't it?"

She smiles up at him, and Shiro returns her smile because he can't help it. Perhaps he was right to trust her after all.

* * *

They make camp that night in a natural cave halfway up a hillside that overlooks a stream and a patch of woodland. Allura lights the fire, and Shiro shows her how to place some rocks underneath the firewood so that they will trap the heat and stay warm for hours. They eat some of the smoked fish, and some wild herbs that grow on the hillside, and refill their canteens in the stream.

They will need to hunt for food soon, Shiro thinks, as the stars wink down at them. The meat and fish will not last, and they can't keep stealing from people. At some point, they should probably find better knapsacks than the saddlebags, and maybe purchase some bedrolls in one of the towns in the Province.

He is still mentally compiling a list of needed items when Allura gets up and stretches her arms above her head.

"I'm tired," she mumbles. She trudges further into the cave and lies down on a pile of drifted leaves, her cloak over her body. Shiro banks the fire and packs up their bags and follows after her.

He hesitates. There is another pile of leaves to one side of the cave, but…

" _Hime-sama_ ," he says, into the gloom.

"Hmmm?" Allura's voice sounds soft and sleepy.

"Do you want me to sleep next to you?"

There is silence for a moment, broken only by her breathing.

"Yes please," she whispers.

So he lies down beside her again, and when he slips his arm around her waist he feels the tension drain out of her, and her shoulders ease down from around her neck and she breathes deep.

* * *

The next day, Shiro pushes Allura to start earlier and march farther without as much rest. The weather is still fine and clear, but clouds lurk on the horizon, and he is fearful of stormy weather delaying their progress. They are still too close to the forest for comfort, and he lives in fear of seeing Galra soldiers come over the hills in pursuit, weapons glinting in the sun as they follow the Princess's tracks.

"We should make as much progress as we can while it stays dry," he tells her, as they follow a path downhill through a copse of young aspen trees. "We'll loose a lot of time if it rains."

"Why?" Allura asks. "I don't mind walking in the rain. I've done it plenty of times before."

"Yes, but we're not going home to a dry roof over our heads," Shiro points out. "There's no roaring fire waiting for us. No warm blankets or a change of clothes. No hot supper and herbal tea waiting on the table. It's not a good idea to walk in the rain out here."

"But you would do it," Allura says behind him. "If it was just you, out here alone."

He stops so suddenly that Allura runs into his back, and when he turns around, she's looking at him with one of her most determined expressions.

"You think I'm coddling you," he says.

"Well, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

She folds her arms and scowls at him, and Shiro has to bite back a laugh.

"I'm not, I promise!" he insists. He holds up his hands placatingly. "It's just common sense. You don't want to get soaked to the bone out here, and then wander around for hours in damp clothes. You'll get cold, and that's how people get sick. And what if it comes to nightfall and we can't find any dry wood to make a fire? We only have one outfit each. We have nothing dry to change into at the end of the day."

Allura un-scowls slightly, but her expression remains wary.

"If it rains heavily," he tells her, "we gather up as much firewood as we can, and we find somewhere to shelter and wait it out. We light a fire and try to stay as warm as possible."

"Well… alright," Allura concedes. "As long as you're not going easy on me."

"I'm not," Shiro says. "Besides, have you considered that maybe _I_ don't like walking in the rain? Did you ever think of that?"

She catches his mock-serious expression, and her frown turns into a half-smile.

"Oh, well why didn't you say so?" she says. "If you hate it so much, we can stop for you. I don't mind."

"Thank you so much," Shiro says. He puts both hands over his heart, as if earnestly expressing some deeply-held gratitude. "That's so kind of you, Princess."

She laughs - just a little; just a brief, breathy chuckle that escapes her lips like a burst of sunlight breaking through a gap in the clouds. But it's enough to make Shiro's heart skip. She looks happier than she has at any point since they escaped the castle - and it is because of him. And that is a forbidden, dangerous thought. Shiro turns away from her before he can pursue it, and concentrates on the path in front of him instead.

"You know, you don't need to be so formal all the time," Allura says. "You can just call me Allura if you want."

Shiro glances over at her, and catches the smile on her face. She looks almost shy to be saying it.

"I don't think it's safe to use that name too often," he says.

"I know. But I'm just saying - I don't mind if you call me Allura. You know. Every once in a while."

Her smile is utterly disarming, and it leaves Shiro lost for words. But Allura does not seem to expect a response. She simply walks past him and on down the path, and for a moment Shiro almost forgets to follow her.

* * *

Later that day, they run into someone for the first time since they left the forest. They follow a footpath along the edge of a hillside where goats scramble over rocks and the twisted stumps of trees. An old lady sits on a fallen log and watches the herd, a staff in one hand and a pipe in the other, and as they walk past she gives them a wave.

"Good day to thee," she calls out.

Shiro stops by the fence and waves back.

"Good afternoon, auntie," he says.

"You folks just passing through?" she asks. She sucks on her pipe and blows out the smoke into the breeze.

"That's right," Shiro tells her. He is vaguely aware of Allura coming up behind him, and then her hand curls into his sleeve.

The old lady gestures with her pipe towards a cluster of buildings on the hill opposite. "Well, Old Hanni's looking for workers, if you're interested," she says. "She'll give you a decent meal if you give her a day's work, fair as you like."

"Thank you very much, auntie," Shiro says. "We'll keep that in mind."

She nods at them, and they leave her to her goats. As Shiro sets off up the path again, Allura stays close behind him, still clutching at his arm. She glances nervously at the old lady on the hillside, and when they turn a corner into a stand of trees she tugs Shiro to a halt.

"Why did you speak to her?" she hisses. "We're supposed to be lying low."

Shiro blinks at her, nonplussed. "Everyone speaks to each other out here. People are just friendly."

"But she was asking all those questions!"

"Because she's a nosy old lady and she wanted to help." He quirks an eyebrow at her. "Did you think she was a spy?"

"Well… I don't know." Allura fiddles with her sleeve, and looks anywhere but at his face. The very tips of her ears turn red. "She wanted to know a lot about us. Isn't it dangerous to talk to people too much?"

"Not out here," Shiro tells her. "You're in disguise, remember? People in the countryside are friendly. They speak to strangers and offer help. We'll attract more attention by _not_ talking to people."

Allura looks up at him, her expression uncertain.

"So… she wasn't…?"

"No, the old goat lady wasn't spying on us."

He watches Allura's expression progress from uncertainty to something more sheepish, and he lays a hand on her arm.

"Relax," he tells her. "You don't look like a princess any more. No one out here will recognise you. So if people talk to us, just talk back. Be friendly, but try not to tell people where we're going."

"Alright," she says.

They set off down the trail, and emerge once more into buttery sunshine.

"So, what _should_ I tell people if they ask where we're going?"

"Just say we're travelling and looking for work," Shiro says. "You can say we're heading to Nyhon Province, if you like."

"Perhaps you're taking me home to introduce me to your family," Allura says.

Shiro stares straight ahead and says nothing. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and not veering off the path entirely. For some reason, this simple task now requires a vast amount of concentration.

"And I'm nervous because I think your mother won't like me," Allura goes on.

"My mother would love you." The words escape reflexively, before he can hold them back, but he doesn't dare look over to Allura to see if she's smiling.

"But I don't know that," she says. "I'm something of a spoiled city girl, and I'm worried she'll think me too fancy, and judge me because I've never done a day's work on a farm. And what if the rest of your family disapproves of the match? I'm trying to prove myself by journeying with you in the wilds, even though I'm used to riding everywhere in coaches, and you keep reassuring me that--"

He forces himself to turn around before she invents an entire life story.

"Alright, enough," he says. "You don't need to make the lies that elaborate."

"I'm just embellishing the truth," she tells him. "It's a well-known narrative device. I was trained in classical storytelling in the court, you know. I'm rather good at it."

"Well, then, I look forward to hearing your highly-embellished take on the Tale of Mahran and the Moon," he says. "But for the time being, can you resist the urge to tell goat herders a vast saga about our imaginary lives? Tell _small_ lies, please."

He turns back to the path, and Allura walks beside him in silence for a moment.

"You want me to tell you a love story?" she asks.

Shiro curses under his breath, because of course she picked up on that _specific_ detail, out of everything that he just said, and the tone of her voice tells him that she is going to make him regret it.

"You can tell me any story you want," he says.

"But you _asked_ for Mahran and the Moon," she points out. "That's a love story."

Shiro keeps his eyes on the path, and the hills and the trees and the sheep grazing on a distant slope - on anything, really, that offers him something to look at that isn't Allura's face. He doesn't dare turn around, because she will see the blush in his cheeks and that will make everything so much worse.

"I didn't know you were such a romantic at heart," she goes on.

"I'm not a--" he starts, and then stops, because he hears her chuckle behind him.

He turns around to find her grinning up at him, one hand over her mouth as she tries not to laugh. Amusement dances in her eyes, and suddenly his own embarrassment seems entirely worth it.

"It's alright," she says sweetly. "I won't tell anyone."

"You know, it will take us weeks to get to Olkar," he says. "Are you planning to tease me the whole way?"

Her grin turns mischievous. "Maybe."

He sighs, and turns back to the path so that she won't see him smile at the thought of it.

"I bet it's tempting to leave me on a hillside surrounded by goats," she goes on, as she falls into step beside him.

"I would never do that," he says quietly. He glances over at her. The playful smile is gone; instead she looks at him with warmth in her eyes.

"I swore to protect you," he says. "And I will. No matter what."

"Even if I'm annoying?"

"You're not annoying," he tells her. "Actually… it's nice to see you smiling."

"Even if it's at your expense?" She nudges him on the arm as she goes past.

"Yes. Even if it's at my expense." He tries to sound put-out, and fails miserably. Allura sees right through it, and grins at him.

It will take them weeks to reach Olkar. But suddenly he doesn't care if it takes forever.

* * *

The next day is overcast and gloomy, and Shiro spends much of the time glancing at the sky and wondering when the rainclouds will burst down upon them. By afternoon, a misty drizzle hangs in the air, and Shiro asks Allura to start picking up firewood, just in case. An hour later, the downpour begins in earnest, and they hurry up a hillside towards an abandoned barn surrounded by rusted ploughs and farm tools.

Thankfully, there is plenty of dry kindling inside the barn; and although there are gaps in the walls where wooden slats have fallen out over the years, the back of the barn remains dry and sheltered. Shiro finds an old bucket under a pile of hay and leaves, and places it outside to catch some of the rainwater. Allura lights the fire, without his prompting, and they sit and watch the rain fall outside the barn doors.

"This would not be so unpleasant to walk in," Allura says, as they eat some of the dried meat.

"Yes, but I'd absolutely hate it, remember?" Shiro says, and it earns him a smile.

After they have eaten, they spread out their cloaks by the fire to dry. The rain shows no sign of easing, and Shiro gives up on the idea of making any further progress today. Still: the empty barn at least affords them space for something else.

He unbuckles his knife from his belt and hands it to Allura.

"You should have this," he says. "Do you know how to use it?"

Allura looks from his face to the knife, and her fingers close slowly around the leather sheath.

"I've had some instruction," she says. "Back at the castle. We all did."

Shiro doesn't doubt it, because all of the royal family has some kind of martial training. But Allura is one of the Blessed, and as such would never be expected to fight on the front lines if a war broke out. Her skills as a healer make her too valuable to be risked in open combat. Which means she went through her weapons training thinking she would never actually need it, and then would not have been expected or encouraged to practice much. Studying with the Blessed was more important, and a better use of her time and abilities.

But now, out here in the wilderness… she needs to know how to use a knife.

"Show me," Shiro says. He beckons Allura towards the open space in the centre of the barn, where the packed earth floor is clear of obstructions. She follows reluctantly, and when he squares off against her she purses her lips.

"You attack," he says. "I'll defend."

She holds the knife somewhat awkwardly, and her stance is sloppy and half-hearted. Her reluctance and unhappiness is written all over her face: she doesn't want to do this, but Shiro needs to see that she can defend herself, at least.

She attacks him with the knife, still in its sheath - and as he expected, it's a weak effort. She goes to slash the blade over his ribcage, and he catches her arm easily, twists her wrist, and knocks the knife out of her hand. She scowls at him, but there's no hint of humour or enjoyment in her eyes.

Shiro picks up the weapon and hands it back to her.

"Too slow," he says. "Try again."

Her stance is a little firmer this time, and her expression is a little more determined - but still, when she comes in for the attack, it's hesitant and lacks any real commitment. He disarms her once more, and she gasps as the knife spirals away from her fingers and skids across the floor.

"Come on," Shiro says, as he retrieves the knife once more. "You need to try harder than that. I'll attack this time. You defend."

She glares at him, and drops into her stance, and he attacks. The result is disastrous: Allura completely fails to block his strike, and he takes the knife out of her hand with ease and holds the sheathed blade up to her neck.

With a sinking feeling, he realises that she has never been in a real fight before. And it must have been so long since she held a weapon of any kind that she has forgotten everything except the most basic of forms. But she won't practice; she is sullen and unhappy and not bothering to try. He presses the knife back into her hands.

"Try again," he says. "Properly, this time."

"Don't get cross with me!" she snaps. "I'm trying."

"Well try harder. You need to know how to use this."

"I don't want to!" she cries. "I don't want to do any of this. Why are you always making me do things I hate?"

Shiro blinks in shock. The petulance of it completely floors him. He had wondered how long it would take for the Princess to come out, but it's still disappointing. And hurtful, somehow; because he thought she trusted him more than that. But before he can say anything, the words come pouring out of her in a rush.

"You're always forcing me to do things I don't like!" she says. "All the long marches with no rest? And letting the horses go? And making me keep going when I'm too tired! And cutting my hair and stealing clothes and now this! I hate this! I don't want to do any of this! I just want--!"

She clams her mouth shut, as if she is trying to physically trap the words inside herself. But they hang in the air anyway, unspoken and powerful: _I just want to go home_.

"You don't have to like it," Shiro says to her. "But I did those things to keep you safe. To help you survive."

"But what do I need the knife for?" Allura asks. "You're here, aren't you? The weapons, the fighting… that's your thing! Why do I need to learn how to do it?"

"What if I'm not here?" he says. "What if something happens to me and you're on your own?"

"Why do you keep saying things like that?" she wails. "Why do you always act like you're going to leave me?"

"Because I might have to!" he snaps.

Her face crumples, and she bites her lip in a vain attempt to hold back tears. And Shiro realises that it's not petulance that has her acting like this. It's fear. She's terrified of being by herself. She lost everything, overnight, and he is the only person she has left and she's afraid that he will disappear as well.

" _Hime-sama_." He forces himself to speak calmly and to keep his voice even and firm. "I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I _promise_. But if it comes to it… if everything else goes wrong… It might be that the only thing I can do to protect you is to buy you time so you can escape. And if that happens, you have to promise me that you will run. I will hold them off for as long as I can, but you have to leave me and run. Do you understand?"

Her eyes go wide, and her fingers tighten around the knife.

"I can't just leave you behind," she protests.

"You have to. You have to make it to Olkar, one way or the other. When I came to work for your father, I swore to protect the royal family with my life. And I promised your mother I would get you out alive. So if the worst comes to the worst, the plan is: I buy you time, and you leave me and run."

"Well, I hate that plan," Allura snaps. "I'm not just going to abandon you."

She looks so fierce and angry that Shiro believes her. But he can't let her that line of thinking stand unchallenged. He takes a step towards her, and cups her face in his hands. It is a gross breach of protocol - an insolent familiarity - but he does it anyway because he needs her to understand this, to internalise this as the way things must be.

"Allura, listen to me," he says softly. "You are the Princess of Altea. You have to survive, for all of us. Whatever happens - you have to get out. I'm just a soldier, sworn to protect you. My life is not important."

"Well, I think it is," Allura mutters. And if it weren't for the dreadful seriousness of their situation, her words might fill him with warmth. But in the context of this conversation, they are like daggers into his heart.

" _Hime-sama_ , please. _Please_ ," he begs. "I can't-- I can't watch you get captured. If they find us, the worst that will happen to me is a swift death. But do you know what Zarkon will do to you? Think how he will punish you for escaping. What he might put you through."

She looks away from him, silent tears spilling from her eyes, her face twisted with the effort of not sobbing aloud. He lets his hands drop to her shoulders and presses on.

"He will make your punishment public," Shiro says. "As a reminder to everyone of what happens to those who defy King Zarkon. And then he will hand you over to Lotor."

"Stop - stop," Allura sobs. She flinches back from him. The knife falls from her fingers, and she covers her face with her hands - but not before he sees her expression. It is a look of pure, unadulterated terror. This is a fear that she understands better than him - the fear of Lotor, and what he will do to her when her body is no longer her own.

Shiro blinks back tears at the sight of her. He hates himself for all of it - for upsetting her, for putting her through all this, for forcing her to confront the ugliness and desperation of their position. But he has to. He has to make her see it. He reaches out, very slowly, to place his hands over hers and gently peel her fingers away from her face.

"I know you don't want to think about this," he says softly. "But ever since we left the castle, I have thought about nothing else except how to keep you safe. I promise you - I _swear_ to you - I won't let Lotor get his hands on you. I will die before I let that happen. But you have to promise me, that when the time comes, you will run. Even if you have to leave me behind. Don't come back for me, you understand?"

Tears stream down her cheeks. She looks down to his hands, wrapped around her own, and she nods silently.

"I know I keep pushing you," Shiro goes on. "But it's because I know you're strong enough to handle it. You have so much strength within you. And you will need all of it - not just to get to Olkar. But to defeat Zarkon. To heal the land. You need to bring that strength out and use it."

She meets his gaze, and nods again. She scrubs the tears from her cheeks and picks up the knife.

"Show me again," she says.

This time, when she drops into her stance, it is solid and firm, and there is determination in her eyes. And when he attacks her, she counters swiftly, and lands a blow on his chest that sends him back three paces.

Her eyes go wide, and she looks momentarily worried. Shiro straightens up and shakes it off.

"That's more like it," he says. "Again."

* * *

After an hour or so with the knife, he tells Allura to get some rest and goes outside to collect the bucket of rainwater. The camp needs some tidying up, and he spends several minutes banking the fire and stacking up the dry wood for the morning. Allura lies on a pile of dried grass and drifted leaves, wrapped up in her cloak. Shiro takes off his boots and his sword belt and carries his cloak over to join her.

It is only when he gets close that he realises she is crying. Her shoulders shake, and over the sound of the rain pattering against the roof he hears her ragged sobs.

His first thought is that this is his fault. He pushed her too far; he said things that upset her, just to make a point, and now she is crying and it's his fault. He lowers himself down beside her and puts his hand on her arm.

" _Hime-sama_ ," he murmurs. "Are you angry at me?"

Her shoulders hunch up higher, and her breath hitches. She shakes her head - but she stays where she is, curled in on herself, not looking at him. He tries again.

"Allura," he says. "Turn around. Please."

For a moment, she does not move. Then she rolls over, very slowly, until she is on her back. Her eyes are red from crying, and tears stain her cheeks, and she looks up at him from the depths of her misery.

"Come here," he whispers. He lies down beside her and takes her into his arms - and she goes without protest or hesitation, tucking her head onto his shoulder so that they lie facing each other. Shiro reaches up and wipes away her tears with his thumb; but it is a futile endeavour, because she is still crying, her breath coming in little hiccups as she fights back the sobs that spill out of her.

"What is it?" he asks. He rubs her back in slow, gentle strokes and waits for her to talk.

"I want to go home," she whispers, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks and her voice shakes.

"I know I can't," she goes on. "But I just… I want to go home and find them all there, alive and waiting. My parents, my cousins… my friends… I want to go back and see them all waiting for me, asking why I've been away so long."

She takes a deep, ragged breath.

"I know they're gone," she murmurs. "I saw my parents die. But there's this part of me that can't believe it. So I keep thinking it was all just some horrible nightmare. And we are out here in the woods for fun, camping and seeing the sights and having an adventure… but in a few days we'll get to an inn, and I'll see my father's carriage outside, and my mother will be waiting for us. And we'll go home."

Her voice breaks, and the tears return in earnest. Shiro pulls her into his chest and wraps his arms around her and holds her as she cries and cries and cries. Her whole body shakes as the force of her grief rips through her.

She has lost so much, Shiro thinks. She lost everything, all in one night, and her heart cannot grasp the magnitude of it. But there is no space to grieve, out here in the wilderness. There is just more hardship and struggle, and a long road ahead; and there is nothing he can say to make it better, or ease the ache in her soul. She clutches at his shirt and sobs, and he buries his face in her hair and holds onto her because he cannot do anything else.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, for what good it will do. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you want me to be strong," she whispers. "I'm trying. I'm really trying. But I can't, I just can't…"

"Stop. It's alright," Shiro murmurs. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You can be sad, too. You can be scared. It's alright."

She wraps her arm around his waist and pulls him close. He cannot see her face, but her sobs become calmer, and her breathing evens out, and she sniffles into his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"What for?" Shiro asks. "You haven't done anything to be sorry about."

"I made your shirt all wet."

"Don't worry about it."

He holds her tight and strokes her hair and hums softly to her, and she drifts off to sleep in his arms. But he lays awake for a long time, and the ache in his heart does not ease until sleep comes to claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know this one goes into more of the worldbuilding side of things, and i've had a few questions about worldbuilding in general, so if you want to talk details and ask questions you can hit me up on my tumblr ([smolsarcasticraspberry](http://smolsarcasticraspberry.tumblr.com)) and i will try and post some info and answers over the next week or so.
> 
> also i have a bunch of comments on this that i haven't answered but i have definitely read and squee-ed happily about them so thank you <3 <3 <3


	5. peppermint tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Shiro has reasons to be worried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who continues to post lovely comments on this! i hope i can keep updating at the same rate but as always it does depend on IRL stuff getting in the way. but for now, enjoy!

After the night in the barn, Allura does not complain again about practising with the knife in the evenings. She seems to have found a renewed sense of purpose; as if the realisation of the seriousness of their position is finally hitting home for her.

When they make camp for the night, she picks up the dagger without Shiro's prompting, and she does not grumble when their training leaves her tired and out of breath. The forms come back to her gradually, and after a few days of practice Shiro is no longer worried that she cannot defend herself.

They keep walking, always heading north, and as the days turn into weeks they settle into a steady routine. They awaken with the dawn each day, and their first order of business is always to find food. Shiro makes traps, and they set them overnight to catch rabbits and hares that run wild in the countryside. One of the saddlebags contains a roll of fishing line, which they string over streams or ponds whenever they camp near them, and wake up to find silver-backed fish caught on the hooks.

They eat their largest meal in the morning, before setting out for the day. It is a change to Allura's previous routine, and it takes her some getting used to, but Shiro insists on it. It is how soldiers march, he tells her, and it gives them fuel for the day's walk ahead. Allura gets used to watching him skin rabbits - even if she hates it, and pulls a disgusted face every time - and she becomes adept at stringing up the fishing line. So much so that Shiro lets her take complete responsibility for it.

"You catch bigger fish than I do," he tells her, and she smiles with a hint of pride in her eyes.

Allura still prays every morning, and Shiro encourages her to continue the practice. The routine seems to help her; it is one normal thing that she has always done, and that she can still do, even after everything else has changed. Her world has been thrown into chaos, but her ritual devotions are one thing she can still control, and whenever she performs them her face becomes calm and she smiles to herself.

Shiro always sits and watches her as she kneels on the ground and chants her incantations, and usually when she is done she presses her hands to his chest so as to share the Goddess's blessings with him. It becomes an unspoken habit, and after a while Shiro knows the prayers well enough to whisper the chant to himself as she performs it; and when Allura is done she always stands and waits for him to come up to her so she can place her hands on him.

They walk as far as they can each day, and they stick to the country lanes and footpaths. As the days go on, Shiro's fear of pursuit recedes; there are no signs of the Galra, or hints of spies following them in the dark. Still: he avoids the main roads as much as possible, and they stay away from farms and villages. Sometimes, they pass by a tiny market town, and they might stop by to pick up supplies, but they never linger for long. In one such stop, Shiro spends some of their precious hoard of coins on two bedrolls, so that at least they can have some comfort while they sleep on the ground. They usually buy food, too, in small quantities: a pie or a loaf of bread, or some sweet pastry to share. It seems frivolous, but it is worth it to see Allura's face light up with joy at the taste of normal food.

Come evening, they find somewhere to take shelter, and eat some of their leftovers from the morning. Shiro finds wild herbs or root vegetables or mushrooms to go with it, and as the days warm up they sometimes come across early ripening berries. But they still have no means to cook anything besides roasting it over the fire, and Shiro is reluctant to spend money on cooking pots.

"They're heavy to be carrying around," he explains, as Allura eyes a set in one of the villages they pass through. "We'll go faster without."

"I'm just tired of eating roasted meat all the time," she says.

"Well… do you know how to cook?"

He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she opens her mouth as if to say something, and then closes it again.

"Not… as such," she says, in her most imperious princess voice.

"Then what's the point in buying pans?"

"I could learn," she grumbles, but she leaves the cooking pots where they are.

Some of their nightly camps find them near streams or pools, and they take the opportunity to bathe whenever they can. After her initial self-consciousness, Allura grows more used to undressing and washing with Shiro waiting nearby. They have spent so much time together by this point, and lived in such close proximity, that she no longer expresses any discomfort over being naked around him. She will happily stand beside the fire with her bare back to him, turning her body this way and that to get dry, and she does not remind him to look away.

He doesn't look at her, though. He resists that temptation. Because he _wants_ to look at her, and if he looks at her he will want to touch her, and that is a path that neither of them can ever embark upon. He cannot afford to think of her that way. So he looks down at the ground instead, or watches the fire, and forces himself to focus on something else.

They sleep next to each other every night. Allura does not say anything out loud, but whenever they make camp she sits and watches Shiro as he prepares to sleep, or she lies awake under her cloak and waits for him. The tension doesn't leave her body until Shiro lies down beside her - at which point her shoulders ease down and she breathes deep and sleeps. After the first few days, Shiro simply accepts that she wants him next to her, and does not question it or object.

Allura grows more cheerful as the days go on and she adjusts to their new reality. She is still melancholy at times, and there are nights when Shiro holds her in his arms as she cries herself to sleep. But ever since their argument in the barn, she seems to channel her sadness into a fierce determination to survive. She is more focused on their goal of reaching Olkar, and more willing to march for longer and take shorter rests, and she takes a more active role in helping Shiro choose their routes across the hills.

They avoid people as much as possible. Not because Shiro thinks there will be spies out here - he's fairly certain there are none - but because he's acutely aware that their presence puts others in danger. He is reluctant to sleep in people's barns, or too close to villages or farms; and he avoids inns, despite the temptation of a roof over their heads and a hot meal and a real bed. If the Galra were to find them in such places, people around them would get hurt - innocent bystanders, innkeepers or farmers just offering to help. Children, even, caught up in the crossfire. He would rather not risk it unless they have to.

They do run into people on the road, however, and there are a few times when they go to a farm asking to buy a loaf of bread or some cheese or dried meats, and instead find themselves invited inside to share in breakfast or lunch. Shiro usually accepts these invitations, because to turn them down would attract more suspicion - and because Allura's face always lights up at the prospect of sitting at an actual table and eating an actual home-cooked meal.

During these times, he gets to witness Allura's skills as a diplomat. He is keen to avoid revealing too many details of their journey, but Allura is a master at steering conversations away from such personal topics. She deflects questions with questions of her own - but it is done so deftly, so politely, that their hosts never notice it is happening. She engages people in conversation about their interests and skills, and keeps the focus away from herself and Shiro, and any unwanted questions about who they are or what they are doing in the wilds. Despite Shiro's initial fears that she would wildly embellish their story, when it comes down to it Allura handles people's curiosity with disarming grace and charm. He simply sits back and watches, and admires the skill with which she keeps their quest a secret, without ever seeming rude or churlish or unfriendly.

They tell stories, sometimes, as they sit around the campfire in the evenings. Allura, as it turns out, is an excellent storyteller. As promised, she tells Shiro the tale of Mahran and the Moon - how Mahran the skysailor found Hiria, Lady of the Moon, lying sadly in the sky, and how he brought her down to earth in his skyboat and they wandered the world together, and Mahran showed her all the wonders of humanity and all the beauty of the earth. And how a band of jealous bandits saw Lady Hiria in her celestial radiance and sought to kidnap her for their own ends, but Mahran fought them off; but Mahran was fatally wounded in the fight and died in Hiria's arms. Her tears of grief turned into the stars, and she summoned her glass skyboat and ascended once more to the heavens; and now she watches over the earth in Mahran's memory, but her heart still aches for the loss of her love, and so sometimes she turns her face away from the earth and weeps…

Allura tells it beautifully, and it is so mesmerising and heart-breaking that Shiro has to blink back tears.

"I don't remember Mahran and the Moon being that sad," he says quietly. He stares up at the sky, where a halfmoon shines down on them from above the hills.

"There is a different version of the tale," Allura says. She shifts beside him on the log on which they sit and pokes at the fire. "In which Hiria cradled Mahran in her arms as he lay dying, but as her tears fell onto his heart, the strength of her love revived him and gifted him eternal life. Mahran's body was transformed into living obsidian, as black and beautiful as the night sky, and Hiria's joy was so great that she glowed white, bright enough to illuminate the darkness. Hiria summoned her skyboat and they ascended to the heavens together, and there they remain, embracing each other for eternity. They look down upon us and dance, and sometimes we see Hiria's back as she twirls in Mahran's embrace, and her divine radiance shines down upon us. But at other times we see Mahran's back as he holds her, and the moon is dark."

Shiro sits speechless as she tells it, utterly captivated by her voice and the story she weaves for him. As she finishes, she glances over at him, and in the moonlight she looks as lovely and radiant as Lady Hiria herself.

"Why didn't you tell that version?" Shiro asks. "That's much better."

She smiles at him, and pushes her hair behind her ears.

"It is the version that used to be told," she says. "But a couple of centuries ago there was a fashion for very tragic stories. Many of the classic tales were reimagined with devastating, heart-breaking endings that explored the sadness of loss and separation. It was considered a higher form of art."

"Well that's bullshit," Shiro mutters. "Who wants to hear stories with miserable endings?"

Allura lets out a snort that turns into a laugh, and her face crumples up in amusement.

"It's the beauty of tragedy," she says. "You know. Tortured souls confronting the darkest aspects of the human experience. Art emerging from heartbreak."

"Well it's stupid," Shiro laughs. "They gave all of the stories horrible sad endings. That's not art!"

"It was a classic movement in the narrative tradition!" Allura says.

"No, it was bullshit," he says, and Allura dissolves once more into giggles.

"You don't like it?" she asks, her face alive with mirth.

"No. I like things to end happily. With hope. And a parade. And maybe kissing."

"Aaww. I forgot what a soft-hearted romantic you are." She nudges him on the arm, and he tries to bite back a grin and fails.

"Yeah, yeah," he says. He takes the stick out of her hand and stirs the fire, and sparks dance up towards the stars.

"I'll tell you what," Allura says. "I won't give you any more sad endings. Only happy endings from now on. With kissing."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I wouldn't want you to compromise your artistic vision."

She shoves him on the arm, and Shiro laughs at her mock-offended expression.

"I don't mind doing it for you," she says.

She leans against him and looks up at the night sky, and the moon rising above them. The firelight makes her face glow golden, and Shiro tries to look away from her but he can't.

"See," she says, pointing at the moon. "There's Hiria and Mahran, dancing together. Spending eternity in each other's arms."

He doesn't look at the moon. He only sees Allura, her face soft with joy, lips pulled up in a smile as she gazes at the stars. She glances up at him, and her smile grows wider.

"Your turn," she says. "Tell me a story."

"I don't have any good ones," he murmurs.

"Tell me a funny story from your childhood," she says. "Preferably something embarrassing."

He chuckles. "That's mean."

But he tells her one anyway, just for the joy of making her laugh.

* * *

And then, about three weeks after their escape from the Oriande, Allura gets sick.

She wakes up sneezing one morning, and her voice sounds cracked and dry, and she sniffs as she gets up and pulls in the fishing line from the evening before.

"Are you alright?" Shiro asks.

She nods. "I'm fine. My throat is just a little sore, that's all."

But as the day wears on, she grows worse. The sore throat develops into coughing, and Allura often lags behind as they walk, so that Shiro has to slow down and wait for her to catch up. By midday she is exhausted and out of breath. She sits on a stone wall by the side of the path and sips from her canteen, and Shiro presses his hand to her forehead.

"You're running a fever," he says.

"I'm just a bit warm," Allura grumbles at him. "We can keep going."

"No. We can't. Let's find somewhere to rest for today."

They head up the hillside, and Allura insists repeatedly that she is fine and they do not need to stop for her. But when they find a small cave between the rocks, Allura sags gratefully to the ground and closes her eyes.

"I suppose we could rest for a little while," she says.

Shiro lights the fire, and Allura lays out her bedroll and sits on top of it, her cloak wrapped around her. She shivers, despite the warmth of the flames.

"I'm cold but I'm sweating at the same time," she mumbles.

Shiro glances over at her as he builds up the fire and pulls out the rations. She looks pale, and she keeps coughing. Worry gnaws at his gut, and he goes to sit beside her and wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"It's probably just a cold," he reassures her. "Try to stay warm and drink some water."

She nods, weakly, and takes a few sips from the canteen. Shiro glances outside their little cave. The day is still bright and sunny, and they will need food and water and more firewood. He stands up, and drapes his cloak around Allura's shoulders.

"Wait here," he says. "I'll set the traps and find some more firewood. Just get some rest."

"I can come with you--" Allura says, but the words collapse into a coughing fit, and she groans.

"Stay here by the fire," Shiro tells her. "I won't be long."

He takes his canteen and the rope for the traps, and heads across the hillside to a stream and a patch of trees. The sun warms his back as he lays traps in the undergrowth, and gathers a few wild herbs and onions that grow by the water's edge. There are plenty of dry branches and twigs lying around, which he bundles up in his arms and carries back to the cave.

The whole expedition takes under an hour, but by the time he gets back Allura is visibly worse. She lies in her bedroll, wrapped up in both their cloaks, shivering and coughing. When Shiro puts a hand to her forehead, she is burning hot to the touch.

He swears quietly, under his breath. The wilderness is no place to get sick. The weather might be warmer now, and the sun shines bright in a clear sky that holds no threat of rain. But still. The ground is cold and hard, and all they have to eat is rough wayfarer's food washed down with icy stream water.

" _Hime-sama_ ," Shiro says gently. "I found something to eat. Can you sit up?"

She groans, and struggles upright. Shiro has to support her as she sits up and tries to drink from his canteen. The water sets her coughing again, and Shiro puts it aside and rubs her back.

"It's too cold," she whispers.

"I know. I'm sorry. Try to eat something."

He hands her the leafy greens he found by the stream, and she chews them weakly. But she has difficulty swallowing, and when he tries to feed her some dried fish she pushes it away after one bite.

"I can't," she mumbles. "I just want to sleep."

He lets her lie down again, and builds up the fire so that the cave is toasty and snug, and sits beside her and waits.

* * *

By evening, Allura is feverish and barely conscious, and Shiro is beside himself with worry. He has not been this scared for her safety since the first few days of their flight from the castle, when he ran himself into the ground to protect her. She lies in the bedroll and coughs fitfully, and her chest wheezes as she fights for breath, and her skin is clammy with sweat even though she shivers and huddles under her cloak.

This is a danger that Shiro is utterly unequipped to deal with. He scrabbles through the saddlebags and pulls out the vials, but although there are tinctures to alleviate pain or help wounds heal, there is nothing to bring down a fever. Allura cannot sit up without help, and she can barely force down water. She does not eat, and when he speaks to her she responds only with wordless murmurs.

Shiro ducks out of the cave so that she will not see him pace back and forth. Worry makes him frantic, but he has to calm down and think clearly.

Allura cannot stay out here. She needs hot tea and a warm bed, and food that is easy to swallow. She needs medicines and blankets. And Shiro has none of those things. He cannot look after her the way that she needs.

He glances back at the cave, and Allura bundled up in her bedroll. There is only one thing for it. He ducks back inside and lays a hand on her forehead.

"I'm just stepping out," he whispers. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

If she hears him, she gives no sign of it. Shiro strokes her hair, and then sets off into the evening air.

He climbs the hill in long, swift strides, as the sky behind him turns to red and gold and the sun drops towards the horizon. He reaches the hilltop, and glances around at the surrounding countryside.

"Goddess, help me," he whispers to the darkening sky. "You Blessed her, and I'm trying to keep her safe. So. You know. Some divine help would be really great at this point."

He follows a narrow path along the top of the hill, keeping his eyes peeled as he goes. The path takes a turn around a rocky outcrop, and Shiro looks down over the other side of the hill, sloping away towards a valley and a narrow lake. Trees grow below him, but as he follows the curve of the path he spies the tell-tale wisp of smoke from a fire. He hurries on a few more steps until he sees what he is looking for. A farmhouse, nestled between the trees, the lamps already lit in the windows as the family settles down for the night.

Shiro lets out a sigh of relief. He turns and heads back towards the cave as the sky grows dark above him.

He finds Allura where he left her, still coughing and stirring weakly. He damps down the fire and shoves their belongings into the saddlebags.

" _Hime-sama_ ," he whispers. "Wake up."

She does not stir, and Shiro curses as he finishes packing up the knapsacks. He shakes Allura's shoulder.

"Come on," he says. "Get up. We're going somewhere warm. Inside."

She stares at him blearily, and Shiro realises she is so feverish she is delirious. Anxiety pools in his belly like cold hands grasping his spine, and he silently prays that the family at the farmhouse will be friendly to strangers barging in on their supper late at night.

"I know you don't want to move," he murmurs. "But you have to get up. Can you do that?"

She doesn't move, and Shiro has to physically help her out of the bedroll so he can fold it up and attach it to her knapsack. Allura sits slumped on the floor, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged.

"Can you stand up?" Shiro asks her. But she can barely move. She lacks the strength to even cling to his back, like she did the day they escaped and he carried her through the forest.

"Captain Shiro," she whispers - and she has not called him that since Oriande. "Why are you in my room? Is my father looking for me?"

He stares down at her. She has no idea where she is, and that speaks volumes for just how sick she really is.

"Goddess help us," Shiro whispers. He hoists both of the packs onto his back, wraps Allura up in both the cloaks, and picks her up in his arms.

"You're just dreaming, Princess," he tells her. "You fell asleep on the sofa, and I'm taking you to your room."

She smiles weakly, and nuzzles into his chest.

"I like it when I dream of you," she whispers. "Those are my favourite dreams."

If he weren't so worried, he might be tempted to explore that statement further. As it is, his only thought is to get Allura to the farmhouse as quickly as possible and hope that they have some way to help her.

He steps out of the cave and heads up the hill, and Allura curls into his chest and clutches at his shirt as they go. By the time they reach the ridge of the hill, Shiro is out of breath from carrying both knapsacks and Allura - but he does not dare pause for more than a few seconds before he sets off again. He rounds the rocky outcrop and heads down the path towards the farmyard.

The track curves around the trees until the farm comes into sight in front of him. A collection of grey stone buildings stand around a packed earth yard, and two dogs stand guard by the gate. The lights in the house cast a warm glow out into the night air, and Shiro hurries on, as fast as he can.

The dogs pick up his scent and bark as he draws near, but it doesn't matter - he is not trying to conceal his presence. He pushes through the gate and crosses the farmyard, the dogs clamouring around him, and comes up to the house.

Before he can decide exactly how to knock with Allura cradled in his arms, the farmhouse door swings open. A figure stands silhouetted against the lamplight: a gangly young man with pale skin and bright red hair.

"…probably just barking at--" he says, but then he sees Shiro and stops. His mouth drops open.

Another figure appears behind him - a girl who looks so similar to the older boy that they can only be siblings. She catches sight of Shiro and yelps in surprise, and ducks behind the boy's legs.

"Uh - dad?" the boy calls into the house, his eyes locked on Shiro's face. An older man with a neatly trimmed beard appears in the doorway, takes one look at Shiro, and lets out a breathless 'Oh, my…'

Shiro realises, belatedly, how he must look: staggering into their yard at sunset, grimy and dishevelled from the road, with three-weeks growth of beard on his chin and a frantic look in his eyes.

"Please - can you help us?" he asks. "We were travelling, but… My wife… she got sick."

The lie slips out instinctively, because it is the only thing he can think of to explain to this family why he is standing in their yard holding an unconscious woman in his arms. But it works: some of the wariness leaves their faces, and he watches as they readjust their understanding of the scene in front of them. He is no longer 'crazy man holding young woman's body', but rather 'worried husband fretting over sick wife'. The girl edges out from behind her brother, and the older man beckons him inside.

"Yes, uh - of course," he says. "Come in, come in. Colleen! Colleen, dear?"

Shiro follows them inside, into a small workroom lined with shelves and various household items. A padded wooden bench stands in front of a fireplace and a boot rack, and Shiro hurries over and lays Allura down on the cushions.

" _Hime-sama_ ," he whispers. "Can you hear me?"

She groans and stirs a little, and Shiro strokes the hair away from her face. A hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up into the older man's eyes.

"It's alright, I'm sure she'll be fine," the man says. "What's your name, son?"

"Uh - Shiro," he says, still too distracted by worry to think straight.

"Samuel, what is all this commotion?"

Shiro turns to see a friendly-looking woman standing in the doorway, wearing an apron and a disapproving expression.

"This guy says his wife is sick," the lanky young man supplies helpfully.

"Colleen, dear, this is Shiro," the older man - Samuel - says. "His wife has been taken unwell."

"We were travelling alone," Shiro says. "She got sick, but I don't have any medicines. And we were sleeping in a cave, I didn't think it was good for her… I know this is an inconvenience, but I have money…"

Collen casts her eyes over him: his cloak, the two makeshift knapsacks - and Allura, lying on the bench, still pale and feverish.

"Nonsense," she says. "I won't hear a word about money. Let's get her inside, shall we?"

Shiro sags in relief, and Colleen turns to her family and starts issuing instructions.

"Katie, dear, run upstairs and open up the spare room. And get some blankets. Matthew, get some tea going, and fetch me the medicine box. Samuel - dear, stop panicking - why don't you plate up some of the leftovers for our guests?"

Her husband and children run off on their various errands, and Colleen turns back to Allura where she lies on the bench.

"Shiro, was it? Leave your packs here for now. Just bring her upstairs, would you?"

He obeys automatically, because something in her tone makes him feel like he is back home with his own mother, being ordered to go and clean his room. He shrugs off the packs and his cloak and takes Allura in his arms once more. She grumbles softly, and blinks up at him.

"It's alright, _Hime-sama_ ," he says. "We're going upstairs to bed."

"That's a lovely name," Colleen says, as she leads the way across the kitchen and up the stairs. "Don't you fret. We'll take care of her, not to worry."

Shiro follows her up the stairs and onto a landing and a corridor lined with several wooden doors. Up ahead, he spots the younger girl - Katie, wasn't it? - heading into one of the rooms with a bundle of blankets in her arms. Colleen ushers Shiro down the corridor to the same room, where a dormer window looks out over the countryside and the ceiling slopes up with the angle of the roof. A small double bed sits against one wall, and Katie stands next to it, buried under the blanket pile.

"Set her down on the bed, Shiro," Colleen says kindly. She bustles around the room lighting the lamps, and setting a fire going in the grate, and Shiro crosses to the bed and gently lays Allura down on the covers.

From there, he is no longer in charge of events. He helps Colleen pull off Allura's boots and cloak, and tuck her in under the covers - and then Colleen kindly but firmly dismisses him to the chair in the corner and tells him to sit and wait. She fusses over Allura, feeling her pulse and her forehead, listening to her chest and tutting.

"Katie, fetch a bowl of cool water," she says, and the girl hurries off. The young man - Matthew - arrives with the medicine box and a jar of honey, and Colleen issues more instructions on exactly which herbs from the rack should be mixed into a tea, and for how long it should be left to brew. Matthew hurries off, and Colleen roots through the medicine box until she finds a small vial of clear liquid.

"This should help with the fever," she says. She eases Allura's mouth open and lets a few drops fall between her lips. Allura's mouth works instinctively, and she swallows.

Katie arrives at the door with a bowl of water and a clean cloth, and Colleen lays the cool compress over Allura's forehead. Katie lingers by the bedside, her eyes darting between Allura and Shiro, where he sits in the chair and chews on his knuckles. Colleen glances over at him and catches his worried expression. Her face softens, and she beckons him towards the bed.

"Help me get her sitting up a little," she says. "Matthew will be back shortly with the tea, and that will help with her cough."

Shiro sits on the bed and gently lifts Allura into a sitting position. She flops back against his chest, and her eyes flutter open and closed. Colleen puts a little honey on a spoon and holds it out to her.

" _Hime-sama_ ," Shiro murmurs in her ear. "Open your mouth."

She turns at the sound of his voice, and blinks up at him.

"It's alright," he whispers. "We're safe here."

Her eyes droop closed again, but with a little encouragement Shiro gets her to open her mouth and accept the spoonful of honey. Matthew appears in the doorway with the tea and a plate of food on a tray, and he sets the whole thing down atop the dresser and brings the mug over to the bedside. The tea smells of peppermint and herbs, and Colleen blows on it and adds a little cool water to the mug to bring the temperature down.

"Drink this, dear," she says to Allura. She holds out the mug, and with Shiro's assistance she manages to persuade Allura to take a few sips.

"Help her keep drinking it," she says to Shiro, and he nods. He holds the mug up to Allura's lips and urges her to drink as much as she can, whilst Colleen wipes her brow with the cool cloth and feels her pulse once more. Allura drinks half of the herbal tea before she grows too drowsy and unresponsive to have any more.

"That'll do for now, then," Colleen says. "Matthew, Katie - off to your rooms now, that's enough."

The others leave, and Shiro helps Allura lie down again, and tucks the blankets around her. He looks over her face and hands, and brushes her hair away from her forehead. She seems to be breathing easier, and her skin is less pale and washed out.

"Here," Colleen says. She hands him the plate of food from the tray and points him towards the chair in the corner.

"Sit there and eat this," she instructs, and Shiro does as he's told. Colleen sets a glass of milk down on the table beside him, and takes a seat on the edge of Allura's bed. She watches him pick at the food in front of him: a shepherd's pie full of meat and vegetables. It smells delicious - but worry robs Shiro of his appetite.

"Will she be alright?" he asks.

"It's just a bad cold, as best I can tell," Colleen says, matter-of-factly. She gives Shiro an appraising look, and her next question arrives with some hesitation.

"I hope you won't mind me asking this," Colleen says. "But is she with child?"

Shiro blinks, and almost drops his fork. "Uh - what? Does that… make a difference?"

Colleen looks serious for a moment. "A fever like this could be dangerous for her during a pregnancy. So if that's the situation, I'd like to send for the healer in the morning to check her over."

Shiro has a sudden vision of the apothecary coming to the farmhouse and seeing Allura, with all her pink marks adorning her skin and her sensitivity to quintessence. And then he will have to explain why she bears the mark of the Blessed, and what they are doing out here. He'd rather avoid it - they are taking enough risks as it is.

"Uh. No. She's not," he says.

"I see. That's one less worry, then. We have some medicines in the house that will suffice, so she should be fine in a few days. She just needs some rest."

Shiro sags with relief. He glances at the bed, and Allura finally sleeping peacefully, propped up on pillows and wrapped up in blankets. This is where she needs to be - not lying on the hard floor of a cave. As dangerous as it may be, Shiro does not for a moment regret bringing her here.

"Stop worrying and start eating," Colleen says. Shiro tears his eyes away from Allura and back to Colleen's knowing expression, and blushes. He quickly shovels a forkful of the shepherd's pie into his mouth before Colleen has the opportunity to embarrass him further.

She watches him while he eats, but he is too intent on the food to pay her much attention. It has been days since they last stopped by a farmhouse, and the taste of actual, home-cooked dinner is heavenly. Colleen says nothing until his plate is clean. She simply sits and keeps an eye on him, and bathes Allura's brow in cool water.

Finally, Shiro puts his plate aside.

"Thank you," he says. "For everything. Not just the food. Although the food was really good, too. Uh."

His eyes stray back to Allura, and Colleen notices the direction of his gaze.

"Not long married, then?" she asks.

"What? Oh. No. It hasn't been long."

"You said you two were travelling together?" Her tone carries the shape of a question, and Shiro seeks for a way to answer her.

"Yes. We were actually headed to Nyhon province. I still have some family there, and she hasn't met them yet."

If Allura could hear him now, using her fanciful excuse… he smiles just a little.

"Alright. Well, I will let you get some rest," Colleen says. She stands up and picks up the empty plate and mug. "It's not wise to share a sickbed, so I'll send Samuel in with the cot and you can sleep beside her. There's a washroom down the hall, and Matthew has left your bags by the door for you. And it should go without saying, but you are welcome to stay as long as you need."

"Thank you. Really. For everything."

"And stop fretting," Colleen goes on. "People get sick, sometimes. It's just a cold."

She bustles out, and Shiro prepares for bed. The washroom is small and simple, but he freshens up and heads back to the bedroom. By the time he gets there, he finds a cot laid out next to the bed, with a few spare pillows and blankets. He tucks away their knapsacks by the dresser and hangs up his cloak on the door, and pushes his boots under the bed. The fire burns low in the grate, and he extinguishes the lamps so that there is only the moonlight illuminating the room.

Before he settles down to sleep, Shiro sits on the edge of the bed for a moment and checks on Allura. Her brow still feels hot to the touch, and she still coughs fitfully in her sleep every now and then. But she already seems a little better. Some colour has returned to her cheeks, and her breathing is steadier. He tucks her hair away from her face and leaves her to sleep.

The cot isn't much - just a cloth stretched over a wooden frame and a thin mattress laid on top. But after weeks sleeping on the hard ground, it feels like sleeping on a cloud. Shiro sinks into it and pulls the blankets over himself.

He tells himself that Allura will be alright. Colleen seems to think so, and she is certainly in better hands in the farmhouse than out in the wilds. Still, guilt gnaws away at him as he lies in the dark and listens to Allura's breathing. He let her get sick. What if he gave her something that made her ill? Some water that wasn't fresh, or some food that had spoiled… He is supposed to protect her, and he failed. Some logical part of him points out that people fall unwell all the time, and his vow to protect her cannot possibly extend into the medical realm. And yet he still feels bad. He was supposed to look after her and he didn't.

Now that the immediate danger has passed, another small fact presents itself in Shiro's mind for examination: the Blessed are not supposed to get sick. The thought drifts up into his consciousness, and it fills him with an uncomfortable sense that the world is all wrong, somehow.

The Blessed are not supposed to get sick. They rarely fall ill; they are connected to the land and the sacred crystals of Oriande, and whilst they heal and renew the land that effect also passes back to them. Their affinity with quintessence shields them from many common illnesses, and they usually enjoy good health and vitality.

But Allura is ill, now. Shiro cannot even remember the last time she got sick in the castle; and yet, three weeks after King Zarkon stole her kingdom and took over Oriande, she is suddenly unwell. An unpleasant seed of worry takes root in his mind. What does it say for the state of the kingdom, that the most powerful Blessed in the land is coughing and feverish and delirious?

Shiro knows little of the workings of Altean magic, beyond the most basic principles: the Blessed use the sacred crystals from Oriande to channel quintessence into Altea's ley lines, suffusing the kingdom with healing energy. The temples form the hubs of these rituals, and the centres from which the power of the Goddess disperses through the land. From what little Shiro remembers of Queen Haggar, she is a witch of sorts, skilled in Galran alchemy. Perhaps it is possible for her to corrupt the land, somehow, the same way the Blessed heal and restore it. Perhaps she has done something to the crystals that give Altea its power and protection.

Shiro rolls over on the cot and looks at Allura, asleep on the bed, and he frowns in the darkness. She is not supposed to be sick like this. And yet she is. That fact alone is worrying - not just for him, as the person sworn to look after her and deliver her safely to Olkar - but for the whole of Altea.

Shiro lies awake and wonders what exactly it means for them all. He wishes he could ask Allura about it - but she is too feverish to answer such questions. All he can do is watch over her and wait, and let the medicine do its work, and trust that Colleen knows what she's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i don't know if it's obvious, but in the story of Mahran and the Moon, Mahran is black, which is why his body turns to obsidian when Hiria revives him.
> 
> also, as usual, i am available for screaming etc. etc. on tumblr @smolsarcasticraspberry


	6. the scent of lavender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on the nature of grief (and denial)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for the lovely comments on the story so far! i know the wait for this chapter has been a little longer than the previous ones, but to make up for it, this chapter is the longest so far :3

Allura remains feverish for two days, and Colleen takes care of her with the cheerful patience of someone who has nursed plenty of sick children through bad colds. She keeps the room nice and warm, and wraps Allura up in layers of blankets, and mops her brow with cool water to help the fever break. She gives Allura a few drops of the medicine every now and then, and the cough and delirium gradually pass. Shiro stays by Allura's side for most of it, but as time goes on his worry for her eases. Colleen seems to know what she is doing, and she insists that Allura is in no great danger and only needs to rest.

And she does rest - in fact, Allura spends most of the two days sleeping. She eats little; in the times when she is half-awake, Shiro helps her sit upright so that Colleen can feed her soup, but for the most part Allura drinks herbal tea and takes a spoonful of honey and then sleeps again. Whenever she wakes up, she is always confused, and she frequently asks Shiro where they are. Every time, he tells her the same thing: they are with friends, they are safe, and they will stay until she's well enough to leave.

Shiro eats with the family - partly motivated by Colleen's insistence that he join them for their meals, but mostly driven by a desire to be polite. They have taken him in and accommodated him, and looked after Allura, and it feels rude to simply sit in the bedroom upstairs and ignore them. So he joins them at the kitchen table for breakfast and dinner and supper, and leaves Allura sleeping peacefully upstairs, tucked up in her blankets. Afterwards, he makes a point to help with the clearing up - Colleen still refuses to even consider taking any money in payment, even if it is just to cover the cost of the medicine she is giving to Allura, and so Shiro figures the least he can do is clear the table and sweep the floor and help Colleen move the sacks of flour and potatoes into the kitchen when needed.

During supper on the first night, Shiro learns that the Holt family - his hosts - have farmed in this valley for generations. Samuel Holt's grandfather bred horses, and Shiro takes a leaf out of Allura's book and asks him more about it, which is how he learns the whole fascinating history of the valley horses of the Northern Wilds. Matthew talks to him as well, and Katie gradually gets over her shyness and chimes in with her own contributions.

"I noticed you have a sword," Matthew says. "Were you a soldier?"

"No, I worked as a private guard," Shiro says, because he would rather not admit that he was in the Altean army and posted at the royal castle, of all places.

"So, how did you and _Hime-sama_ meet?" Katie asks, as Colleen brings out the tea and a plate of warm cakes.

This one will take a little more invention, but Shiro remembers what Allura told him about embellishing the truth, and thinks quickly.

"I was hired as a guard by a wealthy family," he says, which is technically true. " _Hime-sama_ was part of the household," (also technically true) "and one day we just got talking," (again: true).

"Well, you make a lovely couple," Colleen remarks, as she pours out hot tea for everyone. "Am I right in thinking she's an Ancient Altean? I noticed the, uh…"

She gestures towards the side of her head. Right. The ears. The Ancient Alteans are the descendants of the original inhabitants of the land, who lived there centuries ago before all the Provinces were brought into the kingdom and the Blessings of the Goddess were extended across new regions and territories. They still bear the distinctive pointed ears to this day. Colleen must have noticed Allura's, what with all the time she spent tending to her during her fever.

"Uh, yes, she is," Shiro says. This line of enquiry makes him nervous, and he seeks around for some way to steer the conversation away from it. Now, what would Allura do in a situation like this? An idea occurs to him.

"So how did you and Mr Holt meet?" he asks Colleen. "If you don't mind me asking."

He knows, immediately, that he picked the right topic - because Colleen looks delighted. She settles down with her tea and starts telling him the whole story: how they met at a fair in the local town, and she was well known in the day as an excellent horse trainer, and Samuel Holt had a horse he just couldn't seem to train… Samuel himself chimes in to make sure Shiro knows that Colleen was considered quite the beauty in her youth, and Colleen blushes and shushes him and looks absolutely charmed by the whole thing. So then of course she tells Shiro all about their courtship, and Shiro sips his tea and listens and smiles, and by the end of it both the Holt children are groaning and complaining about how mushy it is, and their parents are smiling fondly at each other, and no one is asking any questions about his entirely fake marriage to Allura.

Allura stirs slightly when he comes up to bed soon after.

"Captain Shiro?" she murmurs. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, _Hime-sama_ ," he whispers. She feels warm to the touch, and he bathes her forehead with the cool water and tucks the blankets around her. She smiles a little and drifts back to sleep, and he squeezes her hand and settles himself into bed.

* * *

Around midmorning on the second day, Colleen very pointedly suggests that Shiro should go outside and see if Samuel needs any help with the farm chores.

"You'll worry yourself sick, sitting there fretting," she says. "Why don't you go downstairs and help our Sam with the horses?"

Shiro gets up, reluctantly, and his eyes dart to Allura, still asleep in the bed.

"Will she be alright?" he asks.

Colleen tuts at him, and positions herself in the chair by the window with her sewing basket in her lap.

"She's not in any danger, Shiro," she says. "And she won't get better any faster with you pacing holes in my floor, or standing in the corner chewing your knuckles."

Shiro hastily drops his hands to his sides. Trust Colleen to notice that particular nervous habit.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I'm just worried."

"I can tell. It's like you've never seen her get sick before."

He hasn't, but he can't very well admit that.

"It's just because she got ill on the road," he says instead. "We were travelling, and I got scared it would make her worse."

Colleen pauses in pulling out her needle and thread, and gives him a kindly smile.

"I understand," she says. "Young love and all that. But she's fine, really. She needs to rest in the peace and quiet. I'll sit with her while I do my sewing. You go on outside and find something to distract yourself, before you go frantic and give yourself a fever of your own."

There's no arguing with that maternal tone. Shiro leaves her to her mending, and casts a final glance at Allura before he heads down the stairs and out into the yard.

He finds Samuel and Matthew at work in the stables, and when he tells them what Colleen said, Samuel chuckles.

"Ah, got kicked out, did you?" he says knowingly. "Well don't worry, we've got plenty to keep you busy out here!"

So Shiro pitches in and helps them. They clean out the stables and rub down the horses, and Shiro carries several heavy sacks and crates from the barn to one of the storerooms, and then Matthew brings them out some lunch and they head up to the fields to fix a fence. The wind blows cold over the hills, and a chill hangs in the air on the upper slopes, but the sun shines bright in a clear sky and the landscape is spectacular to behold. The lake below the farmhouse sparkles in the afternoon light, catching the rays of the sun and flinging them back out in a glimmer of liquid silver.

"It's a wonderful view, isn't it?" Samuel says to him, when he catches Shiro gazing out over the endless emerald hills.

"It's beautiful," Shiro says, and it truly is.

The work takes all afternoon, and although it is hard and tiring, Shiro is glad of it. Having something to do helps him keep his mind off Allura, and he stops inventing terrible scenarios in which she gets sicker and weaker until there is nothing he can do to help her. He is too focused on the work in front of him to spiral into panic - but even so, his eyes still stray back towards the farmhouse every now and then, and he cannot help but wonder if Allura is any better.

When they arrive back at the yard, Colleen is waiting for them by the back door.

"Shiro, dear," she says, " _Hime-sama_ is awake. She's been asking for you."

His heart jolts as if he has been given a burst of quintessence. He washes his hands hastily at the pump in the yard, and then hurries inside after Colleen.

"She's much better," she says, as she loads up a tray with tea and a bowl of hot porridge. "Although I think she's still a little confused and not quite with it yet!"

"Why's that?" Shiro asks.

"Well, when she woke up, she didn't seem to remember having a husband," Colleen says.

A brief flash of panic darts down Shiro's spine. He never had the chance to tell Allura about their ruse, and he wonders if Colleen suspects something is amiss.

"Well, it hasn't been long," he says.

"Just don't tease her too much about it," Colleen says with a wink. She picks up the tray and they head towards the stairs.

Colleen leads the way towards Allura's room and pushes the door open. Allura sits up in the bed, propped up on a huge pile of pillows. She still has the blankets wrapped tight around her, but she is awake, and she smiles when Colleen walks in. Then she catches sight of Shiro, and her eyes light up, and it is the most beautiful sight Shiro has ever seen.

He crosses the room and sits on the bed, and takes her hand in his. It is an action driven by pure instinct, and he barely realises he's doing it until it's done - and if she asks him later, he'll tell her it was just to convince Colleen they're really married, and not because he's inexorably drawn to her and sometimes he's powerless to resist. She smiles at him and squeezes his hand, and relief floods his veins like sunlight.

"Here you go, dear," Colleen says kindly. She crosses the room and places the tray on the bedside table, and then her gaze darts between the two of them as they sit on the bed.

"I'll give you a moment," she says. "Shiro, dear, supper will be in half an hour if you want to come down."

Shiro tears his eyes away from Allura long enough to nod at Colleen. "Thank you."

Colleen gives him a knowing look, and closes the door behind her. He turns back to Allura, and finds her still gazing at him, her hand still curled into his.

"Hey," he says. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit better," she says, and her voice croaks. "I'm really hungry, though."

"Oh - here." Shiro lets go of her hand and passes her the bowl of porridge, and she takes it gratefully into her lap and blows away the steam.

"You've been out of it for two days," he tells her.

"I don't remember much of it," she says. "I remember the cave, and then you carrying me, I think? But everything else is a blur. Where are we, exactly?"

"We're just over the hill from our campsite," Shiro tells her, as she spoons porridge into her mouth. "You were too sick to move, so I brought you here. Mrs Holt - Colleen - she's been looking after you. She lives here with her family."

Allura nods. She stirs the porridge and glances up at him. "And you told her we were married?"

There's a familiar hint of amusement in her voice, and Shiro scrubs at his neck and hopes she won't notice the blush that creeps into his cheeks.

"Yes. Sorry. I didn't want them to get suspicious, and that seemed like the best way."

She smiles at him, and takes another mouthful of her porridge.

"I was very confused when I woke up and Colleen started talking about my husband," she goes on. "I didn't realise you would actually _use_ my lie."

"Sorry," he says again. "I didn't have the chance to explain it to you."

"It's alright, she just thought I was still feverish and started telling me about how wonderful you are."

She looks up at him over her bowl, and Shiro meets her gaze. The colour is back in her cheeks, and she looks more lively than she has in days. The fact that she's well enough to make fun of him is an encouraging sign; but if he admits that he missed her teasing, he'll never hear the end of it. He hands her the mug of tea instead, and she takes it eagerly from his hands and sips it.

"You're very good at pretending to be a husband, apparently," she says. "Colleen seems completely convinced that we're married. She kept telling me how lucky I am to have such a devoted husband who wouldn't leave my side."

Now he _knows_ she's doing it on purpose.

"Well, I had to make it seem real," he says. "They'd never think we're really married if I acted like I don't care."

"Right." Her face falls a little, and she takes a spoonful of porridge and doesn't look at him. He is struck by the sudden feeling that he's said something wrong, but for the life of him he can't think what it is.

"I really was worried about you," he says softly. "I wasn't pretending about that."

Her eyes dart up to meet his, and a hint of a smile returns to her lips.

"I got so worried, Mrs Holt kicked me out," he goes on. "She said I was pacing too much."

"She told me." She chuckles, but it turns into coughs, and Shiro helps her take another sip of her tea.

"Thank you," she says, when the coughing fit subsides. "For bringing me here, I mean. I don't like to think how much worse I'd be out on the hillside."

"I don't like to think about it either," he says. "You really scared me."

The admission slips out of him unprompted, and to his surprise Allura reaches for his hand again.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"It's not your fault."

Her gaze lingers on him for a moment, and then she looks back to her bowl and scrapes out the last few spoons of porridge.

"I've never been sick like this," she says, after a moment. "I don't know quite what to make of it."

"I thought the Blessed weren't supposed to get ill."

"We're not," Allura says wryly. She toys with the spoon and glances at the fireplace and the window, as if chasing after disturbing thoughts.

"What does it mean when you do?" Shiro asks.

"Nothing good," Allura whispers. "But - let's not discuss it here and now."

Shiro nods. He takes the empty bowl out of her hands and puts it on the tray, and Allura cradles the mug of tea between her hands and runs her fingers absently over the rim.

"Shiro, I have to ask you one thing," she says, and her voice is tense and quiet. "Is my family… are they really dead?"

She stares up at him, sadness hanging heavy on her shoulders, and Shiro's heart breaks for her. She forgot. In the midst of her fever… she didn't remember it.

"Yes," he says softly. "I'm sorry. That really happened."

She nods. "I knew. It's just that… I got so confused, I kept thinking I was back at the castle. And you were carrying me to my room, or you had come to fetch me for some reason. So when I woke up today… I know it's foolish, but part of me thought it really was just a bad dream. Even though I know it's not."

"I don't think that's foolish," Shiro says.

Allura looks at the mug in her hands, and teases at the steam with her fingertip.

"I never got to say goodbye to them," she says. "We just fled into the woods. There was no Ritual of Remembrance or anything."

"I know. I'm sorry we didn't have time for anything like that."

"We can't even do it now," Allura goes on. Her voice becomes drowsy, and her eyelids flutter closed as she talks. "It's not like we can go to the Temple and ask to perform a major Rite just like that. And I'm supposed to be in hiding."

She takes one final sip from her cup, and Shiro reaches out to take it from her hands. She sinks back into the bed, into the pile of cushions, and pulls the blankets up around her shoulders.

"That tea made me sleepy," she mumbles. "I'm still so tired."

"Do you want me to sit with you?" Shiro asks.

She smiles at him, but doesn't seem able to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.

"No, it's alright," she says. "I think I'm going to fall asleep again."

"You've slept for two days," Shiro jokes.

"It's tiring, being ill." She gives up entirely, and rolls onto her side with the covers pulled up around her.

"I can stay with you, if you want," Shiro says.

"Don't be silly," she murmurs. "Go and have supper. I'm fine, honestly."

She snuggles into the bed, her eyes closed, a slight smile playing on her lips. Shiro sits beside her still, and as she starts to drift off he reaches out to brush her hair away from her face - as he has done so many times over the last two days, when she was feverish and confused and didn't know where she was.

She is not confused now, though. Her eyes flutter open, and Shiro snatches his hand back.

"Sorry," he says. "I just. Uh."

"Don't be sorry," she says, her voice soft and sleepy. "It's nice."

She closes her eyes again, and her breathing settles down. Shiro reaches out once more to stroke her hair, and she smiles and makes a contented humming noise. It's enough to make him do it again, and again, as Allura drifts off into sleep. But he stops before he gets tempted to do something really foolish, like run his fingers down her temples, or cup her cheek in his hand, or brush his thumb over her lips… He shakes himself out of that line of thinking, and gets up from the bed and goes downstairs.

* * *

"How is she doing?" Colleen asks, when he comes into the kitchen with the tray.

"She seems much better," Shiro says. "But she fell asleep again."

Colleen looks approvingly at the tray, where the empty mug and bowl attest to Allura's renewed appetite. She takes the dishes out of Shiro's hands and replaces them with a loaf of bread on a wooden board.

"Put it on the table, dear," she says. "And don't worry about _Hime-sama_. She's still sleeping off the fever, but she ate a whole bowl of porridge. That's good."

He does as he's told, and helps her set the table, and then he sits down to supper with the Holts. Katie, having overcome her shyness completely, is keen to show him her designs for better farmyard equipment; Matthew asks him about Oriande, and what the city is like. Sitting with them reminds him of his own family, and there is something about being here that soothes his worry over Allura's health. Perhaps it is the homely atmosphere, or the feeling that Colleen knows exactly what she's doing.

When he heads upstairs to bed, he finds Allura fast asleep. She still coughs, occasionally, but the terrifying wheeze in her breath has thankfully passed. She stirs a little when he comes into the room, and her eyes drift open.

"Captain Shiro?" she whispers, into the moonlight.

"Yes, Princess," he whispers back. "I'm here to protect you."

"I know," she breathes. "I'm glad you're here."

And then her eyes drift closed, and she falls once more into peaceful sleep.

* * *

By the third day, Allura is well enough to sit up in bed and eat properly, and Shiro keeps her company as she devours eggs and sausages and toast. He takes the opportunity to fill her in on the fake marriage story he made up for them, and she grins approvingly at the way he used the truth to prop up the lie.

After her breakfast, Allura wants to get up, but Colleen insists that she stay in bed and rest. Shiro is once again shooed out the door to help with the chores.

"I'll sit with her for the time being," Colleen says kindly. "Our Sam could do with some help in the barn."

"It's alright," Allura says, when she catches his worried glance. "It will be nice to sit and talk to Mrs Holt for a while."

She smiles at him, and Shiro squeezes her hand and heads down the stairs. About halfway down, it occurs to him that they're supposed to be married, and now that she's awake they might have to act like it. He pauses on the steps and glances behind him. Would Colleen expect him to kiss his wife before going outside to help in the barn? Should he have hugged her or something? He shakes his head and continues down to the hall. He'll need to figure something out so that their cover story remains convincing, but he has a feeling Allura won't take too kindly to being randomly kissed for no apparent reason. Perhaps he can get away with the occasional hug…

He spends the day either pitching in around the farm, or sitting with Allura in her room while she eats. Now that Allura is out of danger, Colleen gives them both a change of clothes so that she can put their travelling outfits in with the laundry: a skirt and a white blouse for Allura, and a tunic and trousers for Shiro. The tunic is tight across the chest, because Shiro is taller and broader than everyone in the house, but it's worth it to get his clothes washed after weeks on the road.

 Colleen comes to check on Allura often, and gives her some more of the medicine and herbal tea, and Shiro makes sure to assist Samuel and Matthew with the chores. If the family won't take money for helping them, then Shiro will make it up to them in other ways for as long as he's staying on the farm. He comes to bed tired but content, and Allura sleeps peacefully and coughs less and less, and the aching fear eases from his chest as she gets better.

* * *

On their fourth day with the Holts, Allura is finally well enough to leave her room and come downstairs - and Shiro wonders exactly how they will go about convincing everyone their marriage is real now that Allura is no longer confined to bed. They have never discussed the issue; Allura never asked, and Shiro was reluctant to bring it up lest it come across as impertinent. Which means they are left improvising.

But he puts his hand on Allura's back as they come into the kitchen, and smiles at her as she takes her seat next to him, and when he looks up he finds Colleen beaming at him. Allura seems to approach the issue by touching his hand every now and then, or smiling fondly in his direction, and that seems to be enough. No one gives them any weird looks, and Shiro lets himself relax.

It is the first time Allura has eaten with the family, and Katie and Matthew take the opportunity to ask her for her version of how she met Shiro. For a moment, Shiro worries that the question might fluster her; but she handles it with her usual graceful diplomacy.

"To be honest, I used to notice him around the household," she says, the lie slipping easily off her tongue. "And I always thought he was very handsome, and had such kind eyes. But he never spoke to me. Until one day, he brought me a flower from the gardens. A pink juniberry. And that's when we got talking."

"Shiro didn't tell us that part," Colleen says, her tone light and teasing. "Although I did peg him for a romantic at heart."

"He is," Allura says. "He won't let me tell him stories with sad endings."

She turns her gaze to him, and a playful spark dances in her eyes. Shiro has to remind himself that she is _pretending_ to be married to him, because for a second it feels like the emotion in her face is genuine, and it knocks the breath out of him. He lets himself return the smile in kind, and tries to ignore how real it feels for him.

" _Hime-sama_ likes stories with tragic endings," he says to Colleen.

"Not all the time," Allura protests. "But sometimes you want a story to break your heart a little bit."

Colleen tuts at her. "I agree with Shiro on this," she says. "Give me a happy ending every time."

"She is an excellent storyteller," Shiro says. "If you can just convince her to let all the characters live until the end."

That earns him a nudge on the arm and a look from Allura, and Colleen chuckles.

"Well, maybe you can tell me some tales whilst you're here," she says. Allura takes the opportunity to ask the whole family what kind of stories they like - and once again the conversation turns away from them, and Shiro breathes a silent sigh of relief. Their cover remains intact.

After breakfast, they speak to Colleen about leaving. Allura is keen to get going again; they have lost four days of travel, and now that Allura is up and about Shiro is eager to leave before they outstay their welcome. But when they mention to Colleen that they would like to depart the next day, she won't hear of it.

"Don't be silly," she says. " _Hime-sama_ is only just up and about. You can't go rushing off out into the wilds again so soon."

"We don't want to be an inconvenience," Allura says. "And I'm feeling much better."

"You're no trouble at all," Colleen says firmly. "Stay for another day, at least. Otherwise you'll make yourself sick again."

Shiro wants to argue against it - if the Galra find them here, they will put the whole family in danger. And every day spent resting at the farmhouse is a day that could take them closer to Olkar, and getting Allura to safety. But he cannot explain those issues to Colleen. Their masquerade requires him to play the role of doting and worried husband, and the only realistic thing he can do is accept Colleen's offer and thank her for her generosity.

"It's nothing, really," she says. "It's been wonderful having you around. And tomorrow is market day - you can help Sam in town, and there's some traders that might have something of use to you in your travels."

So it is settled. They will stay another day.

* * *

With their travel plans on hold, Allura takes the opportunity to sit outside in the sunshine. The days are warming up, and the sky is clear and bright, with only the occasional wisp of white cloud drifting serenely by in the sunshine. Shiro helps Allura find a seat on an old stone bench on the edge of the yard, and tucks a blanket around her shoulders while she rolls her eyes at him and tells him she's fine.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm just worried."

Colleen brings them tea, and they sit beside each other on the bench and gaze out at the rolling hills and the blue sky, and the sunlight glinting on the lake below.

"It's lovely out here," Allura murmurs. "This would be a nice place to live."

Shiro nods in agreement. "The Holts are really lucky."

"Sometimes I think about staying here," Allura whispers. "We could just disappear. Find a little cottage in the valleys somewhere and live in peace and quiet."

Shiro looks over at her. She gazes out at the hills, but her eyes are far away and full of sorrow, and she runs her thumb absently over the handle of her mug. He wants to talk to her; to ask her what's bothering her, or where all these thoughts came from. But Matthew and Samuel are working in the yard behind them, and Colleen bustles in and out of the house, and there's no privacy for them to talk freely.

He shifts closer to Allura on the bench, and she glances up at him. He drapes his arm around her shoulders, and leans in to plant a tiny, feather-light kiss on her temple. If Colleen or anyone else sees, they will look like a young couple, enjoying their tea and the scenery together; but the proximity also gives Shiro the opportunity to talk to Allura without being overheard.

"Do you want to stay here?" he asks.

She looks at him, her eyes wide and soft - but she makes no objection to the closeness of their bodies.

"It's not that," she says, and her gaze turns once more to the countryside and the clouds. "It's just… sometimes it gets overwhelming. I think of how much we have to do to set things right. How far we have to go. I feel the land weakening beneath me, and the blessings of the Goddess fading away. And sometimes… it seems insurmountable."

She leans into him, and Shiro rubs his thumb in circles against her shoulder and watches her, and waits for the words to come.

"Sometimes it's tempting to just vanish," she murmurs. "To disappear into the wilderness and live in hiding, and forget the Galra and Zarkon and the rest of it."

"You're talking about giving up," Shiro says. "Living a lie for the rest of your life."

Allura looks up at him, and a flash of humour chases some of the melancholy out of her eyes.

"I didn't say I was actually going to do it," she chides him. "Just that it's tempting. When everything seems too much."

"Don't give up," Shiro says to her. "We can do this. It's just one day after the other. And I'll help you every step of the way. So don't give up."

Her expression softens as he talks, and her eyes search his face. Her gaze darts to his lips, and for an instant he thinks she might kiss him - as part of their disguise, of course. But she smiles at him instead, and the moment passes.

"I won't," she whispers. "I won't give up, I promise."

He smiles back at her, and she turns back to her tea and the scenery, but the sadness that haunted her expression is gone.

* * *

That afternoon, Matthew takes one of the horses to the next farm to visit a friend, and Shiro goes with Samuel to the orchards to check on the fruit and the beehives. They leave Allura at the farmhouse; and this time, Shiro remembers to act like her husband and gives her a kiss on the forehead before he departs. She curls her hand into his shirt, just briefly, and as he walks away with Mr Holt he feels the weight of her gaze on his back.

The orchards are extensive, and Samuel has plenty of trees to check up on, so that the work takes most of the afternoon. Eventually they head back to the yard, but when they arrive in front of the house Allura is nowhere to be seen.

"She's out the back, dear," Colleen says, when she sees Shiro casting his gaze around for her. "Katie wanted to show her some designs for a new bow, so they're in the old paddock."

She gestures to a path that leads around the back of the farmhouse, and Shiro follows her directions until he comes out into an open patch of grass surrounded by low bushes and a few trees. Allura stands just in front of him, her back to him as she aims a bow at a barrel at the other end of the field. Katie stands beside her, casting a critical eye over the bow and the wrist guard that Allura is wearing.

Allura exhales and lets the arrow fly, and Shiro's eyes go wide. She hits the target in the centre, as clean as you like. She takes another arrow out of the ground beside her, and repeats the shot, with the same outcome. Her stance is solid; her shoulders straight and firm as she draws back the bowstring and takes aim. A third arrow follows after the first two, and hits the target in the same spot.

"It's excellent," Allura says to Katie. "The draw is perfect."

"The chest guard isn't a good fit, though," Katie says. "But I can adjust it for you."

Allura lays the bow aside to remove the wrist and chest guards, and as she does she catches sight of Shiro. She beams at him, and Katie gives him a cheery wave as he crosses the grass towards them.

"How were the orchards?" Allura asks.

"Hard work," Shiro says with a wry smile. He glances at Katie, but she is engrossed in the archery equipment and not watching them. Probably no need for a kiss, then.

"I'm going to go fix this up," Katie says, tapping on the leather chest protector in her hands. "You can take the bow with you when you leave, if you want."

"Are you sure?" Allura asks. "That's incredibly generous of you, Katie."

The younger girl shrugs. "I've made plenty of them. I'm always working on my designs. So keep it if you want. At least that way it'll get used."

"Thank you very much," Allura says.

Katie nods, and sets off back towards the house, holding the leather protectors in her hands. Shiro watches her turn the corner towards the yard, and looks back at Allura.

"I didn't know you could shoot," he says.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and fidgets with the top of the bow.

"My mother taught me," she says.

"You're really good," Shiro says. He glances at the target, and the three arrows clustered together in the centre. Allura shrugs, and the slightest hint of a blush suffuses her cheeks.

"I always enjoyed archery," she says. "And I used to go hunting with my parents. Out in the forests around Oriande, or in the parklands."

She sighs, and heads towards the target to retrieve the arrows. Shiro follows her, his hands in his pockets.

"The bow will be useful," he says. "We might be able to shoot some deer. Well - _you_ might be able to. I'm not that good."

Allura doesn't look at him. She pulls the arrows out of the barrel and says nothing, and that faraway look returns to her eyes.

"What is it?" Shiro asks.

"It's nothing," she says. She lays the bow and arrows down on top of the barrel, and looks out at the fields and hills beyond the paddock. Shiro reaches out and hooks her chin with his fingers. He turns her face gently towards him, and she meets his gaze.

"Tell me," he says.

Her eyes are bluer than the sky, he realises, and they shimmer with tears that she blinks back before they can fall.

"I miss my family," she says simply. "Mrs Holt is so nice to me, and so kind and caring… she reminds me of my mother. I almost forgot what it's like to be around family. And have people take care of you. But being here makes me remember, and I just… I want to see them so desperately. Even though I know I can't. And then I feel silly for wanting it."

She finishes in a whisper, her arms wrapped around herself as she looks down at the grass beneath her feet. From the tight expression on her face, Shiro senses the conflicting emotions she feels, being here with the Holts; the peace and reassurance of being surrounded by family, but the bittersweet melancholy of always being reminded of how much she has lost. And he remembers what she said before - about not being able to say goodbye to them, and how it never quite feels real because of it.

"You know, when my father passed away, my mother kept all his things for months," Shiro says. "She didn't want it to be real, so she left everything exactly as it was. She couldn't bring herself to let go of it."

Allura looks up at him, her eyes wide.

"I didn't know your father died," she says. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," he says. "I was twelve when it happened. I don't really tell people about it."

In fact, he has rarely spoken about it to anyone since coming to Oriande. But Allura looks at him so softly and so trustingly that he feels like he can tell her.

"So what helped her?" Allura asks. "Your mother, I mean."

He shrugs. "Saying goodbye. Thinking about the good things. And the memories that made her happy."

Allura's face falls again. There are no temples out here; no places where Allura can pray the last Rites for her family. But perhaps there is something he can do instead.

"I have an idea," he says. "I know we can't do any of the Rites of the Goddess. But we can do a Hanyin ritual for the dead, if you like. It's only simple. We can do it here. I mean… if you want to."

He trails off, and flexes his fingers nervously. He has never shown her anything like this - a tradition of his people, something held dear in Nyhon but mocked and ridiculed everywhere else. And what if she thinks it's blasphemous, somehow? What if she gets offended?

But just as he starts to think he should never have suggested it, her eyes light up, and she reaches for his hand.

"You would do that for me?" she says.

"Of course. If it will help."

"I think it might." She plays with his fingers, and he looks down at her hand on his and tries to remember how to breathe. "What do we need to do?"

"We just need some incense," he says. "And a few other things. Why don't you wait here? I'll go and see what Mrs Holt has that we can use."

"Alright."

"Find a quiet spot under one of the trees," he tells her. "And see if you can find some stones or rocks."

He heads back into the house, and finds Colleen in the kitchen.

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs Holt," he says. "But do you have some incense I can borrow?"

"I should have some in the store cupboard," she says. "Are you trying to ward off evil spirits?"

"Oh - no," he explains. " _Hime-sama_ lost someone, and she wants to burn some incense to remember them."

Colleen hums in sympathy, and leads Shiro into the store room, where boxes and baskets fill the shelves alongside various jars and miscellaneous household items. Shiro picks up a tray from atop the dresser, and Colleen rummages in one of the boxes until she finds some incense sticks wrapped up in rough cloth.

"Anything else, dear?" she asks.

He thinks through all the things they might need. "A candle, please. And chalk if you have it. And a bowl of water."

She helps him get everything set up on the tray, and lights the candle from the hearth. Shiro steps outside into the herb garden to look for something with a pleasant scent. He finds lavender and thyme growing near the door, and picks a few sprigs of each to go on the tray along with everything else. Then he thanks Mrs Holt, and carries the whole tray outside again.

He finds Allura at the back of the old paddock, sitting under a tree that is twisted and gnarled with age. The leaves hang down to create a shaded bower underneath the branches, and the spot has a lonely and secluded feel to it. Shiro can see at once why Allura gravitated to this place. He ducks under the branches and kneels beside her, and places the tray on the short grass and moss that grows between the tree's roots.

"What is all this for?" Allura asks.

"Saying goodbye," Shiro says, simply.

He leaves the candle on the tray, and drops the lavender and thyme into the water. He lights the sticks of incense and props them in the ground beside one of the roots. The wisps of smoke curl up into the warm air, and the scent fills the space beneath the branches. It always reminds Shiro of home; of the farm back in Nyhon, and his family burning incense in the evening to welcome the night spirits. Allura kneels beside him and watches him as he sets up the makeshift shrine.

"Tell me the names of the dead." He picks up the stick of chalk, and the first of the smooth stones Allura collected from the field. "Everyone you want to remember."

Allura clears her throat. And then she lists them, one by one: her parents. Her aunts and uncles. Her cousins. Her friends among the Blessed. Everyone she knows who died. Shiro writes their names on the stones in curving Hon-sun runes, and as he fills each stone in turn he places them in a row under the tree, next to the incense. The list of the dead fills up, and when Allura reaches the end he adds his father's name, too.

"What now?" Allura asks. Her voice is so soft it almost gets lost on the breeze, and Shiro turns to find her gazing at the line of stones.

"Now you say whatever you want to say to them," Shiro tells her. "It doesn't have to be out loud."

She picks up the first stone - the one with just her parents' names on it - and stares at the markings in silence as the candle burns and flickers, and the incense drifts up towards the sky.

"I'll never forget you," she whispers. "I will use the strength you taught me, and I will save our kingdom and our people."

She places the rock back on the ground, and her eyes stray across the whole list of names. Her lips move, as if she is whispering her last goodbyes to each of them in turn, and Shiro gives her time and silence to say whatever is in her heart. He thinks back to the people he knew in the castle - fellow soldiers, servants, stable hands - and he wonders how many of them made it out alive.

Some soldiers died in the attack, he knows that much. And over the weeks they have wandered the wilds, he has sometimes wondered if his friends were amongst the dead in Oriande that night. He has no way of finding out, and no way of knowing if he should bid their souls farewell or keep hoping to see them again, alive and well.

He whispers their names anyway, just in case.

He glances over to find that Allura has fallen silent, and she looks up at him as he kneels beside her.

"What now?" she asks.

"This next part is a sort of prayer," he says. "It's in Hon-sun. It's a litany of farewell, telling the spirits of those who have passed that they can rest."

"What does it mean, exactly?"

Shiro pauses, and considers the best way to translate it.

"It means: _we remember you, so you may depart in peace_. But… the word isn't 'remember', exactly. _'Yayrin'_ means a fond and complete memory. Remembering everything good about that person, and still loving them even though they're not here. And because we remember them like that, the dead can be at peace and rest, knowing that they won't be forgotten."

Allura takes it all in, and her eyes stray back to the row of names.

"It sounds perfect," she says. Shiro takes a deep breath, and begins the prayer.

It feels odd, at first, and anxiety flickers in his mind as he wonders what Allura will make of it. He has never spoken Hon-sun in front of her, beyond the odd word that slips out now and then by mistake. Reciting an entire litany for her is a new experience. He speaks the names of the dead, one by one, and repeats the same line for each of them: _we remember you, so you may depart in peace_. In Hon-sun, the phrase sounds like poetry. When he risks a glance at Allura, he finds her staring at him, her expression soft and lovely, tears shimmering in her eyes.

She does not hate it, then. She does not think it is ugly heresy; an affront to her Goddess and her beliefs. The wisp of anxiety flickers out, and some unspoken tightness in his chest disappears.

He finishes the list of names, and dips his fingers into the bowl of water. The water runs off his fingertips, and he lets it drip over the stones and the names as he recites the final part of the prayer. Allura watches him, and as he finishes he glances over to meet her gaze.

"What does that part mean?" she asks.

Once again, he seeks for the best translation of the words.

" _'I have seen the darkness of loss and I have seen the brightness of remembrance. I see the line of my ancestors before me, stretching into the past. I see the gardens of peace beyond the boundaries of this world, and I see a place laid out for the departed, where they may rest without sorrow or pain. Go now, and I will join you, at the end of all things. We will meet again beneath the branches of trees that blossom for eternity.'_ "

By the time he finishes, Allura is crying. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, and she curls into him as the tears come. He sits and holds her and says nothing, and the incense drifts up around them and the sunlight dances between the branches as the grief comes back for her in earnest. Shiro wonders if maybe he shouldn't have done this. Perhaps it was too much; too harsh a reminder of how much was taken from her, and how much she can never get back.

But she looks up at him, and beneath the tears that stream down her cheeks he catches the gratitude that shines in her eyes.

"Thank you," she whispers. Then, to his immense surprise, she leans up and kisses him on the cheek. But… there is no one around to see them. No need to keep up the pretence of a marriage. Which means she _means_ it. His heart just about stops beating, and for a moment he cannot think of a word to say to her. She smiles at him through her tears, and turns back to the row of names and the candle still burning on the tray.

"I think I'll sit out here a bit longer," she says softly.

Shiro somehow forces his mind to string together a sentence. "Do you want to be alone?"

She nods, and Shiro stands up and leaves her sitting on the ground in the sunlight. She kneels on the grass, her back turned to him as she watches the candle flame flicker and the shadows dance over the row of stones. Shiro hesitates. He should head back inside, see if Colleen needs help in the kitchen… But something compels him to linger for a moment. He puts his hands on Allura's shoulders, and when she tilts her face up towards him he leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. It is over and done with before he can think it through, but it is the only way he has to tell her how sorry he is for everything she has endured, and how much he admires her ability to keep going in the face of it all. He turns away before she can say anything, and heads back across the paddock to the farmhouse.

* * *

Allura comes into the house a little while later, carrying the tray with the candle and the bowl of water. Shiro is in the kitchen helping Colleen with supper when Allura walks in and sets the tray down on the sideboard.

"Feeling better?" Shiro asks her. He is aware of Colleen standing _right there_ , and the need for some kind of husbandly behaviour, but Allura beats him to it. She crosses the room and wraps her arm around his waist in a half-hug, and Shiro buries a kiss in her hair because it seems like the married thing to do.

"Yes, thank you," she says. Her eyes look red and puffy from crying, but she gives him a warm smile and goes to help Colleen with setting the table. Still, Shiro keeps an eye on her as they prepare for supper, looking for any signs of melancholy. But she seems better than she was, so maybe saying goodbye helped after all.

Samuel comes in from the workshop, and Katie comes in talking excitedly about the chest guard she has fixed up for Allura, and by the time they sit down to supper the only person missing is Matthew. He walks in just as Colleen begins serving the food, and she frowns at him and tells him to wash his hands before he joins them. When they are finally all settled, Matthew tells them about his trip to the next farm.

"Nyma said she saw Galra soldiers in town," he says. "Two of them, on horses. She's never seen them before."

Shiro's gaze leaps immediately to Allura. Their eyes meet, and he reads the sudden burst of shock and fear on her face before she composes herself and turns back to her food.

"So the rumours are true," Samuel says. "The capital has fallen."

"What rumours are these?" Allura asks.

"Well, you probably know more about it than us," Samuel says. "If you came from the south, that is. We just heard there was some nasty business in Oriande."

"Messages came a few weeks back by raven," Matthew adds. "We heard about them in town. But they just said Oriande fell to the Galra, and the King and Queen are dead. We didn't know what to make of it."

Allura sets her fork down carefully, and Shiro lays a hand on her knee under the table - the lightest of touches, just enough to let her know he is there with her.

"It's true," she says, looking up at the Holts. "We weren't in Oriande at the time, but we heard of it on the road. That's partly why we're heading north. To get away from the trouble."

Colleen nods. "It sounds awful. I don't know what it will mean for us or the province. We've never had much trouble out here."

"You might have now," Shiro says. "If there's soldiers in the towns. If the capital has really fallen, then King Zarkon might send his army to take over and exert control."

He hears Allura's intake of breath beside him, and feels the tension that radiates from her as she struggles to keep her face neutral. She drops her hand under the table, and her fingers curl around his. He grips her hand back - a silent promise; an unspoken reminder that he will stand by her and keep her safe.

He focuses on his food and lets the family talk around him while his mind races to make sense of it. He eats mechanically, the taste of it lost against the backdrop of fear and tension that churns in his mind.

His first thought is that they have found Allura, but he dismisses it as paranoia. If King Zarkon really found them, his forces would not be in the town. They would be in the hills around the farm, moving in swiftly and silently - and there has been no sign of them nearby, no disturbance from the dogs in the yard to hint at intruders waiting to attack.

The more likely scenario is that King Zarkon is strengthening his grip on Altea, town by town. It has been over three weeks - the Galra have had plenty of time to lock down Oriande, clear out the Altean soldiers, and put their own forces in place. It makes sense that they would extend outwards, carrying word of the invasion with them as they go. Still, the uncertainty gnaws at him, like an itch he can't scratch. However unlikely, he fears the worst: that they have discovered Allura's trail and sent soldiers to bring her in. Perhaps they figured out that Allura did not flee to Arus and turn back south. Perhaps they now know that she headed north.

Allura remains quiet for the rest of supper, and by the end of it Colleen is so worried about her sudden withdrawal that she shoos her straight upstairs to bed with orders to rest and not overexert herself. Shiro remains downstairs just long enough to help with the clearing up, and he catches Colleen's worried glances in his direction and tries to appear composed and calm, even as the emotions wage war inside him. Finally, Colleen dispatches him upstairs with a mug of herbal tea for Allura and instructions to 'make sure she's not fretting over nothing', and he hurries up the stairs to their room.

He finds Allura sitting on the bed in her borrowed nightgown, chewing on her fingertips, and she gets up as soon as he walks in and wrings her hands together.

"What should we do?" she asks in a whisper. "We can't stay here. We should leave before we put everyone in danger. We can make an excuse to Mrs Holt and go first thing in the morning…"

Shiro places the mug down on the bedside table and takes hold of her shoulders. Her body trembles beneath his touch, and he realises she is on the verge of full-blown panic.

"It's alright," he says softly. "Just calm down. We're not in any danger."

"We're not?"

"No. It's just two soldiers. Probably scouts or messengers. If they had found us, there'd be a whole battalion marching over the hills right now."

Her eyes dart to the window, and the silent, moonlit hillsides stretching out towards the starry horizon.

"Are you sure?" she whispers. She turns her eyes to him - and he has not seen fear like that since the first few days of their flight into the wilds. He cannot afford to indulge in his own anxieties. He has to be calm for her; reassure her before the goes out of her mind with worry. He squeezes her shoulders gently.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says. "We were bound to see soldiers at some point along the way. That's why you're in disguise, remember? We planned for this. We keep our heads down and we blend in with the crowd, and no one will notice us."

She subsides a little, and some of the tension eases out of her body.

"Look - sit down," he says. "Mrs Holt made you some tea."

Allura sinks back on the bed and takes the cup that he presses into her hands.

"What should we do, then?" she asks.

Shiro sits down beside her and puts a hand on the small of her back. She looks up at him, worry still clouding her eyes.

"I'll go into town tomorrow with Mr Holt," Shiro says. "Maybe I can find out some more information about what's going on."

"You're not seriously going into town, are you?" Allura asks. "What if someone sees you?"

He shrugs. "They'll think I'm a farmer, not a soldier. Besides - they're probably not looking for me. And even if they are… the Galra are never very good at telling Hanyini apart. Prince Lotor still gets me confused with Lieutenant Tadashi, and he's known us both for years."

Allura gives him a look loaded with stern disapproval.

"Really? That's your disguise?"

"That, and I have a beard now."

She purses her lips. "You are being very nonchalant about something that is actually a huge gamble," she says, sounding every inch the Princess even though she's sitting in her nightgown.

"I know it's risky," Shiro says. "But I think it's worth it to find out where we stand and to see what's going on in the towns. We need to be prepared for what we might find further down the road."

"We should leave tomorrow," Allura says. She cradles the mug in her hands and blows away some of the steam.

"We'd have to explain ourselves to the Holts," Shiro says. "It will be hard to come up with an excuse. Especially after you were so ill. We'd have to tell them the truth, and that's even more dangerous."

"Are you sure?"

The question comes out soft and uncertain, and all trace of the royal composure is gone. She trusts him, Shiro realises. She trusts his judgement, and if he says they should stay then she will stay.

"I know it seems scary," he says. "But it's just one more day. And we'll end up with a better idea of what to do next."

She nods, and he breathes a sigh of relief. At least she is no longer panicking.

He thinks about her words as he heads to the wash room to freshen up before bed. It's tempting - incredibly tempting - to simply gather all their belongings together and flee into the night. But their survival in the wilds depends upon their ability to stay composed and not panic at the first sight of soldiers on the horizon. He has to trust in Allura's disguise, and the fact that King Zarkon would not expect them to travel this way. They need to be able to walk calmly past a row of Galra soldiers and act like they have nothing to hide. Running for cover will attract more attention. Dashing off into the night, leaving the Holts wondering what spooked them, will cause more suspicion than simply staying put for another day.

But more than anything else, he feels the oppressive weight of _not knowing_. Since they fled the castle, they have heard no word from Oriande - no hint or news of what is happening in the capital, or the status of the search for Allura. As risky as it is to linger with the Holts for another day, Shiro is desperate for more information about Zarkon's plans, and the invasion, and what will come next for Altea. A trip to the market town provides the perfect cover to do a little scouting and reconnaissance, and if he can get some more gossip out of Samuel and Matthew, so much the better.

By the time he finishes up in the wash room and returns to the bedroom, Allura is lying curled up in the bed, the empty mug on the nightstand beside her. Shiro turns down the lamps and climbs under the covers. Colleen helpfully lent them both nightclothes, but there wasn't a bed shirt big enough for Shiro, who stands a head taller than either Samuel or Matthew and is considerably broader than either of them. Still; it is warm enough under the blankets that Shiro can get away with just a pair of linen pyjamas. He settles into the cot, and as he always does, he listens for Allura's breathing in the dark.

"Shiro?" she says, from the bed. "I can't sleep."

"Why not?" he asks.

"You're not next to me."

He rolls over and looks at her back, wrapped up in the blankets. She cannot be afraid of the cold - not here, in this snug room under the eaves where the fire burns low and warm in the grate. Perhaps she is afraid of the soldiers finding them - but then what difference does it make if he is in the same bed as her? So maybe she's just used to him being beside her. Maybe she just craves the comfort of having him close.

From the depths of his minds emerges the idea that maybe she just _likes_ sleeping next to him. He pushes that thought down into the depths of his heart and locks it away for later.

But still. She asked for him. And he doesn't know how to say no to her. So he gets up and climbs into the bed next to her, and pulls the covers around himself.

Allura rolls over and lies facing him, cocooned in a bundle of blankets and pillows. The bed is more comfortable than the cot, but it is narrow enough that Allura is within touching distance. Her eyes stray from his face to his bare chest, and Shiro suddenly wishes he had a nightshirt on, because being half-undressed in the bed with her is prompting his brain to come up with all sorts of fanciful scenarios that will never, ever happen.

"This is better," Allura whispers. Her eyes catch the moonlight from the window and sparkle in the dark.

"I think I've figured out why you can't sleep," Shiro says. "Your eyes are open."

Allura chuckles softly. "Smart of you to notice."

"I'm very observant," he jokes.

She looks up at him, and he hears the hitch of her breath. She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then catches her lip between her teeth instead. Emotions dart behind her eyes, too fast and blurred for Shiro to make out.

"You should get some rest," he says to her.

"Shiro," she whispers. "Why didn't you talk to me in Oriande?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and Shiro's eyes go wide in surprise. Why is she even thinking about this now?

"It wasn't my place to talk to you," he says simply.

"I wouldn't have minded if you did." She gazes at him, eyes bright, lips gently parted.

"I think your parents might have thought it was inappropriate," he says.

"My mother wouldn't have. She always said we should treat the staff as if they're part of the household. It's not right to treat servants like furniture, she said."

"She was always very nice to me," Shiro says. "She used to ask about my family all the time."

"That sounds like her," Allura says with a smile. She lapses into silence, and Shiro thinks the conversation is over until she speaks again.

"I'm glad we're talking now," she says.

"You are?"

"Yes. I always wanted-- I mean. I like talking to you."

He smiles at the admission. He suspected it was the case - but hearing her say it still floods his heart with warmth.

"You mean you like teasing me," he says, with a grin.

Allura laughs softly. "That too," she whispers.

She looks at him in the moonlight - and for an instant, Shiro thinks she will say something else. But instead she burrows into the blankets and tucks the pillow firmly under her head.

"Goodnight, Shiro," she murmurs, and her eyes drift closed.

He watches her as she surrenders to sleep - the gentle rise and fall of her chest; the way her face softens and relaxes; the huff of her breath as she exhales. He reaches out to push a curl of hair away from her face - but he hesitates. There is only warm air between them, and for some reason it feels like if he closes that distance he'll never be able to let it open up again. So instead he rolls over onto his back and closes his eyes.

Sleep comes for him, but it brings ugly and unpleasant dreams. Galra soldiers march across the hills, and the farmhouse burns around him - and in his nightmares he sees Allura, caught in Prince Lotor's grip - and she is screaming for him, calling his name, her arms stretched out towards him but Shiro can do nothing, he cannot move to save her, to rescue her, and she vanishes before his eyes…

He wakes up in a rush, his heart beating out of his chest and his breathing ragged, and Allura leans over him, her hands on his bare chest.

"Sssh, ssh, it's alright," she whispers. "You were having a nightmare."

He reaches for her arms instinctively - and she is solid and real and warm beneath his touch - and it was just a dream. She is here and alive and it was a dream and nothing more.

"I dreamed I lost you," he says, too tired and terrified to even bother lying.

"You didn't," she murmurs. "I'm right here."

She cups his jaw in her hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his neck, and Shiro takes deep breaths and tells himself it wasn't real.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he says. "Go back to sleep."

"It's alright," she says. She lies down on his chest, and he doesn't have the strength or willpower to tell her that this is a bad idea. He simply wraps his arm around her and feels her there: solid and warm and alive, breathing gently against his bare skin. She is not in any danger. He did not fail her.

"I'm right here," she whispers, sleepy words rippling into his chest. "I'm right here, Shiro. You're alright. We're together."

It is the most comforting thing he has ever heard, and this time when he drifts off into sleep his dreams are pleasant and untroubled and full of sunlight and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! as always i'm on tumblr (@smolsarcasticraspberry) if you want to scream at me and/or ask questions about the fic or worldbuilding. thanks so much for reading!


	7. unexpected thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro takes a trip into town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks once again for all the lovely comments! this chapter is not as long as the last one, but it does contain some more actual plot for a change.

When Shiro awakes next morning, he finds that Allura has rolled away from him in the night and is lying with her back to him, breathing gently. He's not sure if he's disappointed or relieved that she's no longer sprawled across his chest. On balance, it's probably a good thing. He gets up as quietly as he can, so as not to wake her, and pulls on his clothes and heads downstairs to help out with breakfast.

He finds Colleen and Matthew in the kitchen, setting the table, and Allura joins them soon after, along with the rest of the family. Over eggs and toast and sweet tea they discuss the plans for the day. Samuel and Katie are heading into town on the cart, and Mr Holt repeats his invitation for Shiro to join them - which Shiro accepts. Matthew will stay behind with Colleen to help out on the farm. Allura expresses the wish to remain in the house and rest, and Colleen approves, so the schedule for the day is set.

Shiro heads upstairs to change; his clothes are fresh from the laundry, which means he finally has something to wear that fits properly across the chest. He is just tucking in his shirt when he hears a knock on the door, and then Allura edges in with her hand over her eyes.

"Are you dressed?" she asks.

"Yeah, you can open your eyes," he says.

She lowers her hand and looks at him as he finishes getting ready.

"Are you going to take your sword?" she asks.

Shiro shakes his head. "It's too conspicuous. I need to avoid any unwanted attention."

Allura frowns at this, and bites at her lip. A cloud of worry hangs over her, and her eyes stray to the sword belt slung over the chair in the corner.

"Will you at least take the knife?" she asks.

"Yes, I will take the knife." He picks it up from beside their packs and slides the sheath onto his belt. He glances up to find Allura still frowning at him and chewing on her fingernails.

"What's the matter?" he asks. "What are you so worried about?"

She gives him a stern look, like she thinks it should be obvious.

"You?" she says. "Wandering into town to confront some Galra soldiers all on your own?"

Her shoulders hunch up around her ears, and Shiro can sense the tension in her stance and her voice.

"I'm not going to confront anyone." He puts his hand on her shoulder and feels the muscles unclench under his touch. "I will keep my head down, I promise."

"Just… Please be careful." Allura looks up at him, anxiety making furrows in her brow, and he steps in closer to her.

"Allura," he says softly. "What's bothering you?"

"I don't know. It's probably nothing." She twists her fingers together, and Shiro raises an eyebrow at her. She takes a tiny step towards him, so that their bodies almost touch, and when she speaks she lowers her voice.

"Something feels… wrong," she murmurs. She glances nervously at the door. "I didn't really want to talk about this in the house, in case the Holts overhear. But… I can sense something. Something's wrong with the land."

Her words creep through Shiro's veins like poison, bringing the chill of anxiety with them.

"What kind of wrong?" he asks.

"I don't know." She meets his gaze, and he finds his own fears reflected in her eyes. "I've felt like this ever since I got sick. It feels corrupted, somehow. As if there's something affecting the ley lines, or the Temples."

"Alright, but… we don't need to talk about this now. You can tell me when I get back."

"Shiro, you don't understand," she says. "I haven't performed any major Rituals in weeks, and my connection to the land is fading. Everything feels confusing now. And blurry. I can't tell what's wrong anymore. I can't tell if it's corrupted alchemy, or if there's a druid nearby… I used to always be able to tell if there were Galra soldiers around, because of the way they felt. But now I don't think I can, and there could be dozens of them in town waiting for you and I have no way to warn you--"

"Allura - stop." Shiro puts both hands on her shoulders, and she presses her lips together as if she is about to cry.

"It's fine," he goes on. "I'll be careful."

"I just have a really bad feeling about this," she whispers.

He takes in her expression, and the tension in her body. Perhaps she is worrying over nothing, and this fear is just because she was sick and she's still not feeling fully herself. But she is the most powerful Blessed in Altea. She is linked to the land, and the quintessence that flows through the ley lines and the Temples and gives their kingdom its power. If she has a bad feeling, that is something worth listening to.

"I promise I won't do anything risky," Shiro says. "I'm just going to go into town and take a look around. There won't be any trouble."

Allura still looks unconvinced.

"Will you at least let me pray to the Goddess first, before you go?" she asks.

"Of course," he says.

She instantly looks more at ease. Shiro sits on the bed and watches as she kneels on the floor and begins her ritual. It is the first time she has done this since they came to the Holts' farm; between her illness and the need for discretion, she has not performed her morning prayers as she usually does. She murmurs the chant in a soft voice, because if the Holts overhear the sacred incantations of the Blessed being sung in their house they will suspect something is amiss; and Shiro sits and watches her as she moves through the motions. He missed this, he realises. He knows the words by heart, even though they are all in Ancient Altean, and he grew so used to hearing the prayer every morning that the days without it felt somehow incomplete.

When Allura finishes, she rises from the floor, and Shiro stands in front of her. She places her hands on his chest, but there is a hesitancy to the movements that he has never seen before, and some deep-seated worry burns in her eyes. Her fingers curl into his shirt, and she looks at her hands on his chest and whispers a string of musical words in the same Ancient Altean language of her incantations. A faint white glow builds beneath her fingertips, and motes of light drift away from her palms and spiral up towards the ceiling and wink out, one by one. She reaches the end of whatever chant she is performing, and then blows softly over her hands, so that the droplets of light flit away around Shiro's shoulders and neck.

"What was that?" Shiro asks softly.

She draws back her hands and looks up at him, and the marks on her cheeks shimmer white before they fade down to their usual pink.

"A prayer of protection," she says. "So that the Goddess will keep you safe."

"Are you really that worried?" Shiro asks. "I'll only be gone for a few hours."

"But what if you don't come back at all?"

The concern returns to her eyes, and she rubs her hands together. She must be frightened of being alone again, Shiro realises. He puts a hand on hers to still the restless movement of her fingers.

"Then you go on without me," he says. "I know you're scared of being by yourself, but you know how to light a fire. You can hunt and find food. You can survive on your own if you have to. So if anything happens to me, you keep heading north until you get to Naxum. You'll be fine."

She meets his gaze for a moment, and then her expression switches from anxiety to annoyance, and she pulls her hands away from his.

"Do you really think that's what I'm worried about?" she asks sternly.

Shiro scrambles to figure out where he went wrong in this conversation. "It's not?"

"No! It's you!" she exclaims. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

He blinks in shock. He opens his mouth to say something, but every word he's ever learned in either Altean or Hon-sun evaporates from his mind.

"Oh," is about all he can manage.

Allura rolls her eyes at him - and now she doesn't look concerned at all, just irritated.

"Goddess above, you're such an idiot," she mutters.

"I just thought--" Shiro begins, but Allura holds up her hand to stop him.

"Just - go downstairs," she says. She glares at him - but at least she's not panicking anymore.

"Right," he says. He edges towards the door, and Allura scowls at him the whole way over until he slips out of the room and into the corridor.

On his way downstairs, he tries to understand what Allura meant. On the one hand, she is definitely worried about _him_ and not herself, which is an unexpected new development in their partnership. But on the other hand, he apparently managed to annoy her with his own thick-headedness, so he probably shouldn't feel too pleased with himself.

He pulls on his boots and cloak in the workroom next to the kitchen, and heads outside to find the Holts standing in the yard. Katie is already sitting up on the wagon, holding the reins of the two horses hitched to the front, whilst Matthew finishes loading crates and sacks onto the back. Allura comes out a moment later. The scowl is gone from her face, but that might just be for show; Shiro still picks up the uneasiness in her eyes.

"All ready?" Samuel asks cheerfully, and Shiro nods.

Matthew steps back from the cart, and Samuel puts his arm around Colleen's waist and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Shiro finds himself suddenly wondering what the correct husband move is at this point. He is leaving Allura for hours, potentially, and something tells him he needs to give her a convincing goodbye.

But Allura, once again, takes matters into her own hands. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a hug, and he hugs her back.

"Be safe," she whispers in his ear.

"I will," he promises.

"You're still an idiot," she mutters.

He huffs out a laugh, and presses a brief kiss to her cheek.

"I know," he whispers.

Allura pulls away, and although her smile is genuine there's still a hint of annoyance in her eyes. But it's better than nothing. Shiro gives her his most confident and reassuring grin, which earns him another subtle roll of her eyes, and then he hops up on the cart next to Katie and Mr Holt. Colleen waves at them as they leave the farmyard and head off down the hill towards town.

Samuel urges the horses into a steady trot, and they make good speed along the lane that winds down the hillside towards the valley floor. A few clouds hang in the sky, but the sun climbs over the hills and burns away the morning mist to leave a warm spring day. The lane comes out onto a packed earth and gravel road that curves around the valley floor, following the path of the stream that fills the lake. Birds sing and call above them, and they pass sheep and goats grazing on the slopes. As they come around the foot of the hill, the next valley opens up before them, and Shiro gazes up at the tree-covered hillsides and the clear blue sky. Allura was right, he thinks. This would be a marvellous place to live.

The roads are clear, and the horses make good time, and so they arrive in the town of Garrin within the hour. They crest a low rise and come down the track into another pleasant, green valley, where the river runs wide enough to warrant the building of a bridge of white stone that carries the road into the settlement on the opposite bank. Samuel slows the horses to a walk so that he can guide them over the bridge, and Shiro looks down to see water birds gliding past in the reeds below.

The town itself is barely larger than a village: a collection of mismatched buildings and a handful of cobbled streets all centred around the town circle. But it seems pleasant enough: several passers-by greet Mr Holt as they ride the wagon up the road into town, and there are no signs of the Galra, despite what Matthew said.

Mr Holt's first order of business is to make deliveries. They stop at several shops to drop off the crates of goods from the cart, and Shiro leaves Samuel to haggle over prices whilst he lifts down the stock. He keeps his ears open for any gossip - but he mostly hears similar versions of the story Matthew told in the farmhouse: a couple of Galra riders came through, and no one knows why or what for.

On the second such stop, he does hear something new - the name 'Pollux', which seems to be a place. He leans down to Katie where she stands beside him, next to the cart.

"What's Pollux?" he asks quietly, as Samuel continues his discussion with the trader.

"It's the temple town a few miles over," Katie says.

"You ever been?" Shiro asks.

She shrugs. "A few times a year for the major Rituals. There's an amazing artificers school there. I really want to go, but I'm still convincing dad to let me."

Shiro smiles at her. Of course she wants to join the Artificers' Guild. Judging by her designs, she'd take the place by storm.

Once the deliveries are out of the way, Samuel drives the cart into town and pulls in at a horse post near to the town circle. He leaves the horses with water and a tray of oats - courtesy of the horse handlers - and leads Shiro and Katie towards the centre of Garrin.

They step through the crowds and into Garrin's town circle - a round, open space from which the town's main roads radiate out like spokes on a wheel. Like most towns and villages, the central communal space is modelled after one of the Goddess's Temples. There is a stretch of packed earth and gravel in front of the buildings, and towards the centre of the open space a huge stone roundel is set into the ground. Strange symbols, worn down with age and the passage of many feet, still cover the circular stonework. Around the circumference of the roundel stand five slender stone pillars, spaced at intervals like the points of a star, and in the centre a bulkier menhir stands taller than the rest.

Shiro glances around at the town circle, and tries to get the lay of the land. The buildings all bear the distinctive style of the Northern Wilds: walls of light grey stone, quarried from the hills, and roofs of slate or thatch. The open space bustles with people, and around the rim of the communal space, shop fronts open onto the morning air. It is market day, and so the gap between the shop fronts and the ring of stone pillars plays host to various stalls and traders. Within the circumference of the columns, the ancient circular paving is left open for pedestrians to pass through. The central column seems to serve as a message board and news post of some kind, judging by the flutter of paper on the breeze and the way the crowds occasionally pause in front of it, as if stopping to read messages.

Shiro scans the shops, and the growing crowds that move between the stalls. On the far side of the circle, he spots the sign for a tavern - always a good place to find local gossip. But there is also an eatery, its doors open to let out the tempting smell of meat pies and fresh tea. On his right, Shiro sees a building that looks taller and older than the rest - the town hall, perhaps? So there are plenty of places where he might find information.

He glances back over at Mr Holt, who has pulled out a list and stands there squinting at it.

"Alright," Samuel says. "I've got some shopping to get, but you don't have to come with us, Shiro. You can look around by yourself if you'd like? We can meet back at Old Maisie's Pie Shop at noon for something to eat and a spot of hot tea."

He gestures towards the eatery. Shiro tracks the sun's position in the sky; noon is over an hour away. He will have plenty of time to check out the town hall and the news post, and maybe casually fish for information from some of the locals.

"Alright, that sounds great," he says.

Mr Holt and Katie wave him off with cheerful good wishes before they turn and head into the crowd. Shiro takes a look around at the stalls and shops. He wants to head to the central pillar first, to see if there are any notices posted - if there are indeed proclamations from the Galra, they will either be posted there or on the town hall door. But a vendor nearby catches his eyes. It is a flash of pleasant colour and texture in the grey-and-brown of the town's marketplace, and Shiro wanders over to the stall.

The trader sells scarves, in various colours and sizes. Many of them are embroidered with designs of birds or leaves or flowers, whilst some are woven in bright geometric patterns. One in particular catches Shiro's attention: a beautiful ivory-white headscarf, sewn with a motif of pink juniberry flowers interlaced with dark green leaves and vines.

Allura would love it. Juniberries are her favourite flowers - she told him that once, as they walked through a field and she picked every wild bloom she could see. And she wanted something to tie back her hair, because the curls always fall in her eyes at the front, but she never got around to finding something she liked.

Shiro runs the soft fabric through his fingers, and the trader notices his interest and helpfully gives him the price. It is a little expensive - not surprising, given the quality of the needlework. But Allura really would love it, and he feels like he has some ground to make up after this morning's conversation. So he pulls out his purse of coins and buys it before he can talk himself out of it. The trader wraps it up for him, all smiles and compliments, and Shiro tucks it into the pouch on the back of his belt and turns away towards the stone circle.

A commotion on the other side of the marketplace pulls him up short. His hand goes to his belt on instinct - but he left his sword at the farmhouse. He told Allura he wouldn't need it. He cranes his neck to see what the noise is about, and the crowd around him turns too, drawn by the clatter of hooves and raised voices.

Two Galra soldiers ride into the town circle. They come from the east; from a wide, cobbled road that seems to lead out of town. A jolt of pure adrenaline surges through Shiro's body, but he pushes down on the instinct to flee or grab a weapon and forces himself to blend in with the crowd. He drops back behind one of the stalls and pulls his hood over his head and watches, heart hammering in his chest.

Two more soldiers ride in, and then another half a dozen follow after, surrounding a battalion of Altean infantry. The riders take up station around the town circle, just outside of the ring of pillars, and the Altean soldiers stamp to a halt on one side of the roundel. Another Galran rider follows them - a general, judging by her armour and insignia.

Shiro scans the Galra forces and tries to take in as many details as possible. Like most Galra, they stand taller than the average Altean, and they have the distinctive slender waists and long limbs of their race. Most of the soldiers wear mail and leather armour that covers most of their bodies, but Shiro spots the distinctive purple skin and the hint of greyish fur on some of their faces. The general's armour is more ornate, but her head is bare; she has a thin, angular face and sharp eyes that scan the crowd for any hint of trouble. Another general rides beside her, his face concealed by a helmet.

The Altean soldiers standing between the Galran riders do not look happy. Shiro recognises some of them, from the castle and the garrison. They seem to be mostly young cadets, and although they make an admirable effort to look stoic and composed, Shiro catches the occasional glint of worry in their faces as they glance around at the Galra soldiers and the assembled crowds.

A murmur ripples through the townsfolk, but the general holds up her hand and the people fall silent. She turns to her companion, who lifts his helmet off his head and shakes out his hair. Shiro's blood turns to ice in his veins, because the second figure is not another general.

It is Prince Lotor himself.

Judging from the gasps of the crowd, the locals recognise him as well as Shiro does. There is no mistaking that tell-tale long white hair; or the delicate shape of his face, so unlike the other Galra who serve under his command. He hands his helmet to his general and looks around at the assembled crowds.

"There is no need to be alarmed," he announces, and his voice carries on the clear air. "You will not be harmed. We are simply looking for two fugitives who escaped Oriande. If anyone can give us news of them, you will be generously rewarded."

He waves a slender hand towards the Altean soldiers, who begin to fan out through the crowds. One of them - the sergeant - hands out wads of paper, which the soldiers start to pin up on the town's pillars and distribute amongst the people watching.

The town hall door bursts open, and a man comes out into the sunshine wearing a rather worn-looking blue cloak of office. Shiro guesses the man must be the town's mayor, but he has the look of small town mayors everywhere: his primary job is probably something else, and he definitely never expected to have to deal with Galra soldiers marching into his marketplace. The crowds part for him, but he looks like he would much rather they didn't.

"What is, uh-- what is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Prince Lotor beckons him forward with a smile, and the man makes his way through the crowd, oozing terrified reluctance from every pore.

"You are the Mayor, yes?" Lotor asks, as the man draws to a halt next to his horse.

"That's right," the mayor says.

"Excellent!" Lotor says. "In case our earlier proclamations were not clear, your province is now under the beneficence of the Galra Empire."

Lotor turns to address the rest of the town circle, and raises his voice to be heard in the sudden, breathless silence of the marketplace.

"I am Prince Lotor, the new ruler of Altea," he declares. "Your King and Queen are dead. Your Princess Allura is on the run. If anyone hides her, or conceals her passing, your entire town will be punished for your disobedience. However, if you cooperate and tell me where she is, your reward will be generous."

Another murmur of concern ripples through the crowd, and Shiro forces himself to stand still and blend in and not draw attention to himself. He reads the faces of those around him: confusion and shock, mingled with resentment and some angry glares towards Lotor and his guards. Most of the townsfolk must have heard rumours about Oriande, at least; they all feared the worse. Judging by some of their expressions, they did not expect to hear that Princess Allura was still alive.

The mayor makes a valiant effort to straighten his back and look Lotor in the eye.

"We haven't seen any Princess here," he says. "And even if we did, we wouldn't hand her over to you."

The crowd mutters in agreement. Lotor turns and nods at his general, who dismounts her horse and clamps a hand onto the mayor's shoulder.

"You misunderstand me," Lotor says. "Princess Allura is in grave danger in the countryside. If she returns to Oriande, she will be well treated and afforded all the protections of my personal guards. In fact, she will rule beside me. As my Queen."

He pauses, and waits for the crowd to respond. Shiro looks at the faces around him, and watches the outrage dissolve into confusion and uncertainty. What Lotor is saying sounds superficially reasonable - but Shiro remembers, very vividly, the look of utter terror on Allura's face whenever she talked about him. The smooth words and easy charm mask a dangerous mind.

"My rule will not be one of cruelty," Lotor goes on. "Those towns and villages that help me will enjoy my favour. When I am crowned King, with Allura by my side, Altea will enjoy a new era of prosperity - as part of the Galra Empire. So if anyone has seen her, or knows of her whereabouts, let them step forward and be rewarded for their loyalty to Altea."

No one moves. The town watches and waits. Lotor gives them a moment, and then he sighs and dismounts from his horse.

"Come, Acxa," he says to the general. "Let us discuss matters of government with our new ally, shall we?"

He gestures at the mayor, still standing under the grip of General Acxa. Her hand moves to wrap around his arm, and she tugs the unfortunate man towards the town hall.

"Come along," she says. "Let's talk about how you're going to pay your tithes to the Galra Empire, shall we?"

The crowd watches them as Lotor strolls towards the old stone building and up the steps. The three of them disappear inside the town hall, and the doors shut behind them.

Shiro lets out his breath and glances around. The fear on the faces of the townsfolk gives way to bemusement and disbelief, but they still eye the Galran guards with wary mistrust. The Altean soldiers resume their circuits of the marketplace, and at last Shiro catches sight of the papers in their hands.

They are wanted posters. From a distance, he can just about make out a likeness of Allura, beneath bold lettering declaring a reward for news of her whereabouts.

Fear drops into his core like ice. Despite the mayor's bold words, Shiro cannot help but wonder how many people in this town would hand over Allura to Prince Lotor, if they knew she was staying at the Holt farm. He wonders if Mr Holt will recognise Allura from the posters, and see an opportunity to make his fortune and secure his family's safety under the country's new regime…

Shiro shakes himself. It's unlikely. He has lived with Holts for five days; it is safe to say he can trust them. The townsfolk didn't exactly welcome Lotor with open arms, and Allura is in disguise for a reason. Still - all it takes is one person. He needs to get his hands on one of the posters, just so he can check how much the Galra know about her flight from Oriande - and how much they are offering in reward for information about her whereabouts.

He ducks back into a narrow alley that runs between two buildings, and scans the crowd around him. People huddle together in groups, and the sound of low voices fills the air. They watch the Galra guards and the Alteans, and Shiro senses the undercurrent of mistrust that simmers in the marketplace. Even the traders seem only half-focused on selling their wares, and far more interested in observing the progress of the soldiers around the town circle.

One of the soldiers heads in Shiro's vague direction, and with a jolt Shiro realises that he recognises him. Let's see… young cadet, tan skin, what was his name? Shiro led him on some training exercises once. He was very enthusiastic about saving the day and getting a parade… _Lance_. His name is Lance.

Shiro watches the younger man's progress through the crowd and tries to figure out the best way to approach this. The fact that the Altean soldiers marched into town side by side with the Galra is deeply worrying; the fact that none of them look too happy about their current task is a little more reassuring. The question of what Lotor is doing here, in a tiny insignificant market town in the Northern Wilds, is one to be pondered over later. What Shiro desperately needs, at this point, is news from Oriande - and if he remembers Lance correctly, he might be a good source to provide it.

Lance moves between the groups of people, pressing posters into their hands as he passes, and his path through the crowd brings him towards the alleyway in which Shiro stands. Shiro picks up a pebble and tosses it towards Lance's feet. The rock bounces and rolls across the gravel and dinks into Lance's boot, and he glances around in confusion. He takes a few steps towards the alley, and as he does so, the townsfolk around him turn away. For one brief moment, no one is looking in Lance's direction, and Shiro seizes the opportunity. He darts out of the alley, grabs Lance by the collar, and hauls him bodily into the dark space between the buildings.

Lance's eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth as if to yell or scream. Shiro clamps his hand firmly over his mouth and presses Lance up against the building. He holds his finger to his lips and glares at Lance: _keep quiet_. Don't make a sound.

Lance stares at him in shock. But he nods, slowly, and Shiro takes his hand away.

"Shiro?" Lance hisses. "What are you--?"

"Not here," Shiro whispers back. He pulls Lance further into the alleyway and round a corner into a dead end behind the shops, where he finds a grubby space full of empty crates and broken cart wheels. Shiro stops and turns to face Lance, who gapes at him with his mouth open and a perplexed expression his face.

"What are you doing here?" Lance asks in a whisper. "Are you with the Princess?"

"Never mind that," Shiro tells him. He keeps his voice low and commanding, and Lance's back straightens instinctively as the superior-officer-tone kicks in. "What's going on in the capital? Do they know where Allu-- where the Princess is?"

Lance shakes his head. "You haven't heard?"

Shiro bites back a sigh of frustration. "I haven't had any news from Oriande since the attack," he says patiently. "I've been… otherwise engaged. What's going on? Are you under Lotor's command now?"

"It's bad, Captain," Lance says, and his face falls. "It's really bad. After the attack, a lot of the Blessed were rounded up and put to death. King Zarkon is in charge, and Queen Haggar took over all the Temples and they're full of these weird druids. Nobody really knows what's happening."

"Do they know where Princess Allura is?" Shiro asks again. "Did they follow her trail?"

"I don't think so?" Lance says. "At first we heard she was spotted heading for Marmora, and battalions were sent to watch the roads south. But then they said she didn't go that way. So we got deployed all over to look for her. Some of my friends got sent to Taujeer, and some of the squads were sent east. We're supposed to put up these posters."

He shows the stack of papers to Shiro. Shiro takes the first sheet from the top and looks at the poster up close. The wording is fairly standard: 'wanted, reward offered' and so on. A sketched picture of Allura takes up much of the space on the piece of paper, and with a sinking feeling Shiro realises that it is an exceptionally good likeness. It might even have been traced from one of her official portraits. Below it is a rather smaller and rougher sketch of Allura's 'companion' - 'Altean soldier, name unknown'.

It looks absolutely nothing like him. He shouldn't laugh, but there's something about it that's absurdly amusing.

"Is she with you?" Lance asks.

"I'm not going to answer that," Shiro mutters.

"But she is, isn't she? No one could find you after the attack, and people said you were dead, but then we found out the Princess went missing and some people said you might have escaped with her but I didn't know--"

"Lance, knock it off," Shiro warns. "I'm not going to tell you."

He taps the piece of paper thoughtfully, and scans the images and the words.

"They don't know where she is," he murmurs.

"No. We just got told she ran off and she might be with a soldier."

Shiro nods absently. "What are you doing with Prince Lotor? You in the Galra army now?"

Shame and fear chase each other across Lance's features, and he shuffles his feet. He suddenly looks much younger - and Shiro remembers how Lance always looked up to him in training, and how much weight he put on Shiro's opinion of him.

"We didn't have much choice," Lance mutters. "General Loris sided with Prince Lotor. He said we work for the Galra now, and we all got ordered to serve with the Galran military. Some of the other officers tried to fight back, but…"

He trails off.

"What?" Shiro asks. "What happened?"

Lance looks back up at him. "They called it a mutiny, and the soldiers who organised it were imprisoned and made to fight in the gladiator ring. And then… they killed their families. They locked the gates to the family barracks and set the whole place alight."

Shiro curses under his breath, and scrubs a hand over his face. Lance wasn't lying when he said it was bad. High ranking Altean soldiers going over to the Galra side? Executions and gladiator pits? By the sounds of it, King Zarkon's grip on Oriande is tightening. And this is just the beginning. It will only get worse from here, as more of Altea falls under Galra command.

"I know I should have fought back," Lance goes on. "But I have a family, and I didn't want anything to happen to them, and they said if we didn't cooperate they'd kill everyone we care about."

"It's alright, Lance," Shiro says. "You did the right thing."

"We did?"

Shiro nods. "There's no point mounting a rebellion without a proper plan. Even if you succeed in deposing Zarkon, there's no one to take over and lead in his place. The best bet is to bide your time and wait for the right moment to strike."

"When's that gonna be?" Lance asks wryly. "There's no one left! And the Princess vanished into thin air. Face it, Shiro. We're doomed. You were right to just run away."

"I didn't run away," Shiro says sharply.

Lance catches his stern expression, and his eyes go wide.

"So the Princess _is_ with you," he whispers. "Oh man, you gotta get her out of here, it's not safe! If Prince Lotor--"

"Lance!"

The younger man subsides into silence, and Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to think.

"What are you all doing out here, anyway?" he asks. "Are you looking for Allura?"

"Not… exactly." Lance flops down onto a pile of empty crates and kicks despondently at the ground.

"Queen Haggar opened up this weird portal," he goes on. "In one of the Temples. She did it with the druids or something? And we walked into it and came out in this town called Pollux. In the Temple there."

A vague, undefined dread creeps up Shiro's spine.

"What kind of portal?"

"I don't know," Lance says. "Just this weird black hole that we all walked through."

"Why?" Shiro asks. "Why Pollux? Do you know?"

"Not really," Lance says. "We got sent through and told to secure the Temple. And then Queen Haggar did some weird ritual thing. But since we're here we've been going around the towns handing out the posters. And Prince Lotor likes to shake places up when he goes through. He makes a lot of speeches."

Shiro chews on his knuckles and mulls this over.

"So Queen Haggar wants something to do with the Temples," he says. "And Prince Lotor just wants to throw his weight around."

"Something like that," Lance shrugs.

"You were right. This is bad," Shiro says. "They're moving out from the capital and consolidating their grip on the country. And I don't like the sound of these portals."

"I didn't like it either," Lance remarks. "I nearly puked."

Shiro stares at the ground, his mind racing to make sense of everything Lance said. He doesn't have time right now to think about what it means that Queen Haggar took over the Temples, or why Prince Lotor is out here leading the search for the Princess himself. Those are issues to contemplate later, when he's had a chance to sit down and talk it over with Allura. For now, he needs to make sure he gets out of town unseen. He folds up the wanted poster and shoves it into his pocket, and glances at Lance, still sitting on the crates.

"Stand up," he says, and there's enough authority in his tone that Lance jumps to his feet instantly.

"You cannot tell _anyone_ that you saw me," Shiro goes on. "You understand? Prince Lotor _cannot_ find out."

Lance nods.

"Princess Allura is alive," Shiro tells him. "She's the rightful Queen of Altea, now. That means she's coming back. And when she does, she will need support from within Oriande. From the army. You follow?"

Lance's eyes go wide. He glances around like a frightened animal getting ready to bolt, and Shiro stifles a groan.

"You want me to start a resistance movement?" Lance whispers. "I'll get killed! They'll take my family! I can't--"

Shiro grabs him by the collar and shakes him. He doesn't have time for this. Lance is just about the worst choice he can think of as the leader of a secret rebellion waiting to come out in support of Princess Allura - but he is also the only option on the table right now, and Shiro doesn't have time to mess around.

"Lance!" he snaps. "You're not a cadet anymore. I need you to step up. The lives of everyone in this country are at stake here. Do you get that?"

"Shiro, I can't do this," he whispers. "You should come back with me! People trust you, you can convince them…"

Shiro shakes his head, and Lance trails off.

"I can't," Shiro says. "There's something else I have to do first."

He lets go of Lance's collar, and the younger man tugs absently at his shirt and stares up at him, mouth open.

"You're taking the Princess to safety, aren't you?" he breathes, and then clams up at Shiro's warning expression.

"I can't come back right now, so you have to do this for me," Shiro tells him. "Spread the word that the Princess will return to Altea to confront the Galra. But only tell people you absolutely trust. None of the higher ranking officers - we don't know who's taken King Zarkon's side or who might sell us out. And you keep everything absolutely quiet, you understand? No one can find out."

Lance nods. He looks absolutely miserable, though, and Shiro softens slightly. He puts a hand on Lance's shoulder.

"I'm trusting you with this," he says. "This isn't training anymore. This is the real thing. I know you can do it - you have to. This is your chance to earn that parade you've always wanted."

He watches the words sink in. Lance's face grows more serious, and he straightens his back and nods again - more firmly this time.

"I won't let you down, Captain," he says.

"Good. There's a lieutenant who trained under me in Oriande who you can trust. He'll help you. He's called Keith, I think you met him in basic training."

Lance pulls a face.

"Ugh, not _Keith_ ," he mutters. "Do I have to work with that guy?"

Shiro cuffs him around the ear, just hard enough to make a point, and glares at him. Lance rubs his head.

"Fine, I'll find Keith," he mumbles.

"Don't talk about any of this until you're back in Oriande," Shiro warns him. "If Lotor finds out I'm here…"

"I know, Shiro. I know."

He meets Lance's gaze. He _does_ understand - underneath the bluster and whining and the complaints about Keith, he understands exactly how much is at stake. Shiro lets himself relax a little. Lance is smarter than he appears. He won't mess up something this important.

"You can do this," Shiro tells him, and Lance stands to attention and gives him a salute.

"Yes, sir," he says.

"Get out of here," Shiro says. He tilts his head towards the alley mouth, and Lance gives him one final, tight smile before he hurries off.

Alone in the alley, Shiro pulls out the wanted poster and looks at it again. If the Holts see it, they might put two and two together and figure out Allura's identity; but if they are anything like the people in the town, chances are they will conceal Allura voluntarily. Still - he would rather not have to take that chance. It will be easier and safer for all of them if the Holts remain in the dark, and continue to think of Allura as just another traveller passing through the wilds. He tucks the poster away again and makes his way back towards the town circle.

He emerges into the marketplace, and pauses just in front of the alley, in the gap between two shop fronts. The atmosphere in the circle is subdued, and a nervous tension hums in the air. Shiro picks it up in the tight expressions on people's faces, and the low mutters of conversation. The Galran guards still stand watch, and the Altean soldiers seem to have finished handing out their posters. They reform their lines near the central pillar just as Prince Lotor and General Acxa emerge from the town hall with the mayor.

A murmur goes up from the crowd, and hundreds of pairs of eyes all turn to watch Lotor stride across the marketplace and swing himself up onto his horse. General Acxa squeezes the mayor's shoulder one last time before she follows suit.

"Well, this was productive," Prince Lotor declares to the world in general. "I shall leave you with some protection, should you wish to share any news you might find about Princess Allura's location or movements."

He gestures at two of the mounted Galra soldiers, who urge their horses towards the mayor until the flank him on either side. The mayor shuffles his feet, and tries to wipe the sweat from his brow whilst keeping his dignity intact. The townsfolk don't seem best pleased about it, either - but this is their reality now. Shiro knows that in his bones. The Galra guards will stay here and keep an eye on the mayor, and probably throw their weight around for fun; and that, along with the overabundance of wanted posters, will remind this town that their King and Queen are dead, their Princess is missing, and their new ruler does not like or trust them one bit.

Lotor spurs his horse into a trot and heads back out of town, down the road that leads to the north - and Shiro wonders if there is another market town in that direction that's about the get the same treatment. The Galra riders follow, along with the Altean troop, and Shiro catches one final glimpse of Lance's hair as he marches away with the rest of the soldiers.

A rumble of unhappiness ripples around the town circle, but Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. As distressing as it is, Garrin's situation is not his immediate concern. And as much as he would love to march up to the Galra soldiers and kill them both, and loudly proclaim Garrin free from Lotor's influence, and tell all of them that Princess Allura is alive and well and planning to save them… he can't. He supresses that instinct, because it will do nothing but make the situation a hundred times worse for everyone.

He reminds himself that he cannot do anything about it. Not yet. His job is to protect Allura - to see her safe to Olkar. And logically he knows that the best way to help these people - to help everyone in Altea - is to help Allura; to put Allura in a position where she can plan her return. Deliver her to her allies without alerting Prince Lotor. _Then_ she can come back, with an army and a plan and the means to defeat King Zarkon. _Then_ she can free them all, take back Altea, restore their country and their Temples and their dignity.

But it drags at his soul, like thorns catching and tugging at a cape. These people don't deserve this. Prince Lotor will make their lives miserable, and Shiro has no idea how long that misery might last. They will have to endure it, not knowing that Allura is working desperately to release them from their suffering. The Holts will have to endure it too - never knowing that they helped bring their Princess one step closer to securing their freedom.

Shiro finds his gaze drawn once more to the road heading north, and the distant cloud of dust kicked up by Lotor's soldiers and their horses. He has to focus on the positives. Lotor does not know where Allura is. He did not follow her here, in hot pursuit - he is here purely by chance. If Lance is correct, then the search for Allura covers half of Altea.

But that is the only crumb of comfort in an otherwise bleak and depressing encounter. Prince Lotor has the power and the resources to terrorise small towns for his own amusement, and leave his soldiers in his wake to continue making trouble. And Queen Haggar in the Temples… what the hell is _that_ all about?

He shivers, in spite of the warmth of the day. He longs to get back to the farm and talk it all over with Allura - calm her anxieties, reassure her that everything is alright - and get her opinion on what Haggar is up to, and the meaning of these strange portals… He gets the feeling that if he can only sit and discuss it with her, everything will make more sense. They can talk about it together. Plan together. Figure out the whys and the hows and the reasons behind all of it.

And he realises, distantly, that at some point he got used to having Allura there to talk to, so that now sharing his troubles with her seems like the most natural thing in the world.

He shakes his head. No time to worry about how _that_ happened. He turns away from the road, and the retreating cloud of dust, and sets off into the crowd to find Katie and Mr Holt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i decided to include Lotor in this story and give him an actual role, because he's such a fascinating character. i'm leaning towards a 'manipulative asshole' characterisation for him for this fic - i know some people want to read him differently in canon and i have my own feelings about that, but for the purposes of this AU he's definitely 100% a dick.
> 
> as always thanks so much for reading and please come scream at me on tumblr or in the comments! <3


	8. daffodils under the trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some important conversations about what happens next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [power slides in at 80mph] i'm posting this at 4am i don't have impulse control please validate me

Shiro finds the Holts after only a few minutes of searching through town circle. With the Galra soldiers still lurking outside the town hall, the crowds in the marketplace thin out considerably as the locals decide to leave their business to another day. Shiro spots Mr Holt easily enough as the man hurries through the stalls, Katie following behind with a shopping basket held in both arms.

Shiro makes his way through the crowds to meet them, and Mr Holt's face lights up in relief when he sees him. By mutual agreement, the plan to catch a bite to eat in the tea shop is abandoned, in favour of leaving town immediately and heading back to the farm. Samuel fidgets nervously and keeps glancing around at the Galra sentries; Katie stares wide-eyed at her father and Shiro and says nothing. They are both scared, Shiro realises. The encounter with Prince Lotor rattled them. He tells Mr Holt he is happy to leave straight away, and wordlessly takes the shopping basket out of Katie's hands so he can carry it back to the cart himself.

The ride back to the farm is subdued and quiet. The sun still shines in a clear sky, and birds call to each other on the warm updrafts - but the weather does nothing to lift Shiro's mood. Samuel steers the horses out of Garrin and over the bridge, his face drawn and tense, and no one says anything until they are over the rise and well onto the valley road.

"Nasty business," Samuel mutters, eventually. "Very nasty."

"I didn't realise things had gotten this bad," Shiro says, and that's true, at least. He suspected some of it - but seeing it play out in front of him is still a shock to the system.

"What's going to happen, dad?" Katie asks. She sits between Shiro and her father, her feet on the bench and her knees drawn up to her chest.

"I don't know," Samuel says.

Shiro finds himself unable to offer any words of comfort. Unlike Mr Holt, he _does_ know; or at least, he can guess how this will play out. Prince Lotor will set up in one of the major towns - maybe Pollux, maybe somewhere else - and his soldiers will be stationed around all the villages to keep people in line. Taxes will be higher. Sudden tithes and tributes will be demanded at random, on the whim of the Galra. Every time they go into town they will see the soldiers there, and remember that their country is no longer free.

The silence stretches out, broken only by the steady beat of the horses' hooves against the road.

"At least Princess Allura is still alive," Katie says, eventually.

"That's one piece of good news, at least," Samuel says.

"But she's not here," Katie goes on. "She left us."

Shiro looks down at her, and takes in the frown on her face and the way her eyes stare off into nothing.

"She will come back, though," he says, before he can stop himself.

Katie glances up at him. "You think so?"

"Well… what do you know about Princess Allura?" he asks, as much to buy himself time as anything else. He really shouldn't have started this conversation, and now he needs to find a way to get out of it without incriminating himself.

"I don't know," Katie says. "She seems pretty smart."

"She came to do a major Ritual in Pollux once," Samuel adds. "Some folks got to meet her. Everyone said she was very charming."

"She is," Shiro says. He thinks back to Oriande, and what Allura was like there before he got to know her better, and how an admiring stranger might describe her. "She's very sweet. She's kind, and compassionate. She loves Altea a lot, and is always looking for ways to help people. She wouldn't abandon us."

He cannot say it without smiling at the memory of Allura, resplendent in her crown and finery, standing on the balcony in the sunshine and addressing the enraptured crowds of Oriande. The people loved hearing her speak - and Shiro got to see it up close, every time, stationed nearby and watching from the shadows.

He looks over to find Samuel staring at him thoughtfully, a slight frown on his face.

"Word to the wise, Shiro?" he says. "Don't let your wife hear you gushing about the Princess like that."

It takes Shiro second to register what he means, and then the heat rises in his cheeks like a kindled flame.

"Oh - no, that's not what I meant at all," he stammers. "Everyone in Oriande admires Princess Allura. _Hime-sama_ would tell you exactly the same thing."

Mr Holt looks like he doesn't fully believe it, but he lets the matter lie.

"Have you ever met her?" he asks.

"Who, me? No, of course not." Shiro forces a laugh, as if the very idea of it is ridiculous and Princess Allura isn't currently staying in Mr Holt's spare bedroom. "But when I worked in Oriande, I saw her a few times at the Rituals or the festivals. She used to make speeches sometimes, and everyone would go and listen. She was always very popular - everyone liked her."

"So you think she'll come back?" Katie asks.

"I think so," he says. "She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would abandon her people. I'm sure wherever she is, she's planning to help us however she can."

Katie nods and turns back to the road, but she seems more cheerful, and some of the tension is gone from her face.

"I hope you're right, Shiro," Mr Holt says.

They watch the road for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The sun rides high above them in a clear sky, but Shiro barely notices the passing of the hills and farms. He has to break all this to Allura, somehow; preferably before she hears it from Mr Holt or Katie. The wanted poster seems to burn a hole in his pocket. He wonders if the Holts saw it - and what they made of it if they did.

They do not speak much on the journey back to the farmhouse. Eventually they come up the valley past the lake and turn into the lane that leads to the Holt farm. Katie at least seems less scared and withdrawn, and as the farmhouse comes into view she mentions that she wants to be the one to tell Matthew all about the soldiers.

Shiro says nothing as the wagon pulls through the gate and into the yard. Colleen stands by the farmhouse door, and Matthew comes out of the workshop as Mr Holt reins in the horses and draws the cart to a halt.

"What's the matter with you lot?" Colleen ask. "Why the long faces?"

"There was a bit of trouble in town, dear," Samuel says, as he climbs down off the cart and Matthew helps Katie hop down after him. Mr Holt starts to explain what happened with Prince Lotor and the Galra soldiers.

Shiro glances around frantically for Allura - and spots her just as she comes around the side of the farmhouse. She must have been sitting in the paddock again. Shiro jumps off the cart and heads towards her, before she can overhear too much of Samuel and Colleen's conversation. Katie is engaged in an animated re-enactment of the whole incident, and that is not how Shiro wants Allura to find out about it.

Allura takes in the Holts, all gathered together and talking seriously, and then her eyes dart to Shiro. She frowns in confusion.

"What's going on?" she asks.

Shiro reaches her side, finally, and puts his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go out back."

He steers her around and back towards the pathway that leads behind the farmhouse to the field. Allura's frown deepens, and she looks over her shoulder at the Holts as she follows Shiro's lead and heads back the way she came.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I'll tell you. Not here."

"Shiro, you're scaring me."

She stops by the pathway and wraps her arms around herself. Shiro glances behind her at the Holt family, still firmly within view of them both. He cannot tell her here. They need privacy, so he can explain it all to her in a way that won't make her panic.

"Just tell me," she whispers.

"Do you trust me?" Shiro asks.

Her eyes search his face. "Of course."

"Then not here. Out the back."

She nods, her face still creased up into a frown. Shiro takes her hand and leads her down the path to the far side of the paddock, away from the house and prying eyes. They find a bench near the trees, where some late-blooming daffodils sway gently in the breeze.

"Alright, sit down," Shiro says.

"Why? What's happening?" Allura twists her hands together and gnaws at her bottom lip. Shiro picks up the anxiety washing off her in waves.

"You might want to--" he says, but she cuts him off.

"Just tell me! Please?"

Well… maybe quicker is better, actually, because she looks like the fear of not knowing is worse than the news he is about to give her. He takes a deep breath.

"Prince Lotor was in town," he says.

She gasps. Her eyes go wide with shock, and she covers her mouth with her hands.

"What?" she whispers. "He followed us? He found us, he's here, he's--"

"No! No!" Shiro takes her by the shoulders, and she trembles under his touch. She breathes too quickly - rapid breaths, one after the other - and her eyes dart over his face as if she can't really see him in front of her.

"He doesn't know," Shiro tells her. "He didn't follow us. He doesn't know we're here."

"Are you sure?"

He nods. "I spoke to an Altean soldier in town. They're searching all over Altea for you. They have no idea where you are."

The fear subsides, and her breathing returns to normal. Shiro helps her sit down on the bench and kneels on the grass in front of her. She reaches for his hands, and he grasps her fingers gently in his.

"He didn't find us?" she asks in a whisper.

"No. It's just chance that I saw him at all. The Galra came here for something else."

"But they are looking for us?"

"Well - they're looking for _you_ ," Shiro says. "They don't seem to know who you're with."

He pulls out the wanted poster and unfolds it in front of her. Allura takes it out of his hands and frowns at the words and pictures.

"This looks nothing like you," she says, and she already sounds less scared.

Shiro taps the paper. "It doesn't look much like you, either. Not anymore."

He leans up and twirls a strand of her hair around his finger for emphasis, and Allura cracks half a smile.

"They were handing these out in the town?" she asks.

"Yes. Apparently the Galra thought you went south to Marmora, and when they didn't find us on the road they started looking everywhere for you. These have been handed out all over the place."

Allura runs her eyes over the poster, and Shiro gets up and sits on the bench next to her. She is no longer shaking with fear, and now that the initial panic has subsided she looks calmer.

"This is a good thing," he tells her. "It means they have no leads."

"We lost them in the woods," Allura says. "All that sneaking around paid off after all."

She folds up the poster and hands it back to him with a smile.

"So why were they there?" she asks.

Shiro tucks the wanted poster back into his pocket, and tries to organise everything he saw in town into something coherent. He tells her as much as he can remember: Lotor showing up, the Altean soldiers marching with the Galra guards, and everything Lance told him about Queen Haggar and the Temples and the mysterious portals. Her face falls as he tells it - but this is not panic for herself, but a deep-seated concern for her kingdom and her people.

"This is very bad," she whispers, as he wraps up his account. "If there are no Blessed left in Oriande, then Queen Haggar can control the Temples completely."

"What does that mean?" Shiro asks.

Allura looks away from him, towards the house. The Holt farm is no place to have an in-depth discussion about Altea's spiritual magic, or its internal politics. There are too many potential interruptions - Mrs Holt coming to call them for dinner; Katie running up with some exciting device to show Allura; Mr Holt asking for help in the yard. The ever-present risk of being overheard means they cannot talk freely about the Blessed or the Temples or what Queen Haggar's takeover means, because if the Holts witness such a conversation they will wonder who Allura really is and how she knows so much about Altea's closely-guarded secrets. And after the wanted posters in town, the risk of being uncovered is even greater.

Still: they are on the far side of the paddock, away from the house, where they can easily see anyone coming. Allura leans in close to Shiro and lowers her voice.

"I suspect that Queen Haggar is doing something to corrupt Altea's energy," she murmurs. "It would explain why I got sick. If the land becomes corrupted, the Blessed are said to fall ill."

"Is that why she needs the Temples?" Shiro asks.

Allura looks up at him, her face tight with worry, and nods. "The crystals in the Temples affect the ley lines, and the ley lines affect the land."

"And then you get ill," Shiro finishes for her. He scrubs a hand over his face and looks out at the Holt farm, and the lake sparkling in the valley below. The flowers still bloom; the leaves still hang green and lush on the trees. The birds still call and wheel in a crystal blue sky. The land does not _look_ tainted. But Shiro trusts Allura's word. Something rotten and contaminated lurks beneath the hills, spread by Queen Haggar's dark alchemy, and it made Allura sick and weak.

"What do we do now?" Allura asks, and Shiro turns to find her looking at him and not the landscape around them.

"We keep going north," he tells her. "We get to Olkar."

"I should do something," she whispers. "If I can get to a Temple…"

"No, you can't," Shiro says firmly. "We have to lay low and get to safety."

"But this corruption in the land…"

Shiro shakes his head, and her face falls. "I know you want to do something," he says. "I know your instinct is to help. But it's too risky."

"You don't understand," she says, but he takes her hand and the words fade on her lips.

"I _do_ ," Shiro says. "How do you think I felt standing there in town watching Galra soldiers march in and terrify the locals? You think I didn't want to rush in and stop them?"

Allura bites her lip, and looks down at his hand where it rests in hers.

"I know what it's like to want to do something to help," he goes on. "To have every part of your soul scream at you to leap into action. To protect people. But you can't do it."

Her fingers tighten around his, and she turns to the hills and the lake, and the farm nestled between the trees.

"The land will get sick, too," she says softly. "The crops will fail. Plants will die. The taint will seep into the water eventually, and the animals will fall ill… I don't like to think about what will happen to Altea."

"I know," Shiro says, and she turns once more to look at him. "But what will happen if you break into one Temple and perform a Ritual? It will only help a few people. And then what if Haggar finds you because of it? What happens when you're taken back to the capital as a prisoner?"

She frowns and looks away from him, and toys with his fingers where they rest on her thigh. He can read the unhappiness in her face. She wants to help - she wants to rush into the nearest Temple and throw out Haggar's druids and perform a healing rite to cleanse the land. It is such a fundamental part of her nature that he suspects that not doing it - not helping, not rushing to the aid of Altea in its time of need - is almost physically painful for her. She wears the agony of inaction in her frown, and the darkness that hangs over her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know it's frustrating. But the best thing we can do for everyone is to keep heading north. Once we return and free Altea, you can cleanse all the Temples in the land."

She nods, slowly. Shiro opens his hand, palm up, and gently threads his fingers through Allura's. She closes her grip around his hand and smiles up at him.

"We will come back," he says. "I promise. We'll put all this right."

_We_. He said _we_. At some point along the way he just assumed he would be by her side for all of it. Allura doesn't correct him, and her eyes sparkle as she gazes up at him. Shiro almost wishes that someone would appear from the farmhouse, because then he could lean forward and kiss her, and call it part of their disguise. The thought flashes across his mind like a bird darting across the summer sky - and it is ridiculous, surely, because he would never do that, and there would be no need for it, so why would he even think that? But before he can make sense of the impulse someone really _does_ appear on the pathway leading to the yard - Matthew, waving at them from across the paddock.

"Mom says come in for some dinner," he calls out.

Shiro waves back, and stands up. He half-expects Allura to drop his hand, but she keeps her fingers wrapped tightly around his as they go inside to eat.

* * *

Dinner is a subdued affair. Katie is still tense from what happened in town, and the usual lively chatter is replaced by a more serious conversation about Prince Lotor and the Galra. Allura sits close to Shiro as they eat, and he senses her anxiety in the tension of her body, and the way she reaches for his hand under the table when they move on to tea and sweetcakes after the main course has been cleared away.

The main conclusion of the discussion - summarised by Mr Holt - is that they can expect some unpleasant changes, but this far from the capital they will probably avoid the worst of it. Shiro longs to tell them about the Temples, and the effect it will have on the land; but he cannot do that without giving away Allura's secret, so he bites his tongue and says nothing. Mrs Holt expresses concern over the continuation of the Rituals in Pollux, and whether or not the family can still travel to attend them, but apart from that the issue of the Goddess's blessings does not arise.

Shiro catches Allura's eye as Colleen talks. She, too, looks like she is desperate to say something - but he squeezes her hand beneath the table, and she seems to understand. They cannot say anything. They can only focus on their greater goal: get to safety. Find their allies in Olkar. Plan how they will return and set everything to rights.

"We can't just let the Galra get away with it," Matthew says, and Shiro looks up from his mug of milky tea in surprise. But Matthew's face is set and determined.

"Don't get any wild ideas, Matthew," Colleen says, and there's warning in her tone.

"It's not a wild idea," Matthew protests. "They've taken over our country! We should fight back."

"Shiro thinks Princess Allura will come back when she can," Katie supplies helpfully, and Shiro forces himself to keep his gaze on the Holt siblings and not look over at Allura sitting next to him. He can imagine the expression on her face, though; and what she'll say to him later about it.

"There you have it," Matthew says. "We should be ready for her. When she comes back, I'll fight for her."

"How exactly do you plan to do that?" Samuel asks.

"Well… I don't know that, yet. But I'll figure something out! Princess Allura isn't going to come back to a country that's given up and accepted its fate. I'm sure Nyma will agree with me, too."

"Oh, come on, now," Colleen grumbles.

Shiro lets them talk it out as a family, and stays quiet. But Matthew's words give him pause for thought. How many other Alteans will feel the same way? How many others will voluntarily take up arms against their oppressors? Shiro has already planted the seeds of support with the army - now there might be more support forthcoming, from ordinary folk caught up in the violence. It is a hopeful idea, and something to mull over as they consider their plans for Allura's return.

After dinner is cleared away, Shiro uses the remainder of the afternoon to prepare for their departure tomorrow. Matthew digs out two decent knapsacks from one of the store cupboards, to replace the makeshift packs that Shiro made out of the saddlebags, and Allura spends some time transferring all of their belongings to their new gear. Colleen goes through her pantry and wraps up some spare food for them - dried meat and fish, a loaf of bread, a few pies - all things that will last a few days. Katie finishes fitting Allura with the chest and wrist guard that goes with the bow she made, and gifts the whole thing to Allura along with a quiver of arrows.

As the sun begins to set, they sit down for supper. Allura is a little more cheerful, and talks happily with Katie about the bow and arrow, and Katie's plans for more gear and equipment. Matthew picks Shiro's brain for ideas on how to start a resistance movement, and Shiro tries to guide him as much as possible without giving away his own involvement in the Altean military.

He will miss the Holts, he realises, as they all sit and talk and laugh around the kitchen table. He hopes there is a way to repay them someday for all their kindness. Maybe he can come back once all this is over, and explain who they really are and how much they helped in Princess Allura's escape.

After supper, he lingers in the kitchen to help with the clearing up as usual. Allura heads upstairs to bed, but Shiro feels the need to speak to Colleen before they leave in the morning. Not that he fears a betrayal from the Holts, but with Lotor marching through town he wants to give them some kind of warning, however vague. It will be safer for them if no one else finds out that he and Allura were ever here.

"Do you think I could take up a cup of tea for _Hime-sama_?" Shiro asks Mrs Holt, as he puts away the broom by the door. "She was a little anxious earlier, and that tea you made for her really helped her sleep."

"Of course, dear," Colleen says. She puts a small pot of water to simmer over the stove, and drops in a few pinches of dried herbs.

"We'll be sad to see you go tomorrow," she says, as she stirs the tea with a wooden spoon. "It's been wonderful having you around. We always enjoy new faces."

"Actually… I wanted to speak to you about that, if I could."

Mrs Holt looks up at him, as if she has picked up on the tension in Shiro's voice. The kitchen is otherwise empty - the rest of the family have already gone upstairs to get ready for bed. It is just the two of them standing in the glow of the moonlight and the last lantern.

"What is it, dear?" Colleen asks. "Spit it out."

"It's just that… once we're gone, it would be best if you didn't tell anyone we stayed here. Even your friends."

Colleen looks up at him in the gloom.

"Is this because of _Hime-sama_?" she asks.

"It would just be safer if people didn't know we passed through," Shiro says.

Colleen nods, and looks back at the tea and the leaves swirling in the water.

"She's one of the Blessed, isn't she?" she says quietly.

Shiro's mouth drops open. "How did you…?"

Mrs Holt gives him a rather knowing look. "It's hard to keep secrets on a sickbed, Shiro. I helped _Hime-sama_ to the washroom a few times, and I looked after her for days. I saw the little marks on her skin. And the white roots in her hair. She's Blessed, isn't she?"

Well, there's no point lying now, clearly.

"Yes. She is."

The tea starts to simmer, and Colleen moves it to a cooler part of the stovetop so as not to let it boil over.

"What are you two running from, then?" she asks.

"It's better if you don't know," Shiro says. "It's just… Altea isn't safe for the Blessed right now."

"So is this why you were in such a rush to leave yesterday?" Colleen asks. She stirs the tea again, and watches the leaves bob on the water.

"Yes. We didn't want to put you in danger by staying too long."

Colleen says nothing, but her brow furrows into a frown and she purses her lips.

"Is my family in danger now?" she asks. She turns back to Shiro - and he suddenly feels horribly guilty for coming here at all.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I hope not. But you might be if you tell people, or if word gets around that we stayed here."

Colleen nods, but her expression remains the same.

"I'm sorry for not being honest with you," Shiro says. "We didn't want anyone to know that she's Blessed. Not with everything that's happening. It's just safer."

"It's alright, Shiro," Colleen says softly. "Pass me that mug, will you?"

She points at the shelf, and Shiro reaches for the cup and hands it to her. She lays it on the sideboard and roots around in the drawer for the tea strainer.

"I would have helped you either way," she says. She keeps her eyes fixed on the tea as it simmers, and her tone is quiet but full of steel and soft fire. "Even if you'd come running in here saying she's one of the Blessed and you're on the run from who-knows-what. I still would have helped."

"You would?" Shiro asks. It seems absurdly generous.

"You'll find many people in these parts will help others without asking for anything in return," Colleen goes on. "It's just our way out here. And the Blessed are held in high regard in the Northern Wilds."

She turns to look up at him, and her expression softens.

"You might have noticed how beautiful the land is out here," she says. "Well - that comes from the blessings of the Goddess. We all know that, and we're all thankful for it. And for the Blessed, who help to keep it this way. So there's plenty of folks in these parts that would go out of their way for one of the Blessed, should they find themselves in the position to help them."

"Even so," Shiro says. "I feel like we're safer if we travel in disguise."

Colleen hums in understanding.

"Pour this out for me, dear," she says, pointing at the tea. "It's about ready."

Shiro picks up the heavy cast iron pan and pours the tea carefully into the mug, whilst Colleen holds the strainer in place. Once the mug is full, she pulls out the honey pot and stirs in a spoonful of honey.

"So is _Hime-sama_ really your wife?" Colleen asks.

The question catches Shiro off-guard, and he opens and closes his mouth. He considers evading the issue, but… Colleen has taken the truth well so far, and there's no point lying about this particular part of it.

"No, she's not," he says.

"Ah," Colleen nods. "So that was just wishful thinking on your part, then?"

He blinks - and then he catches her meaning.

"Oh - no!" he stammers. "It's not like that. She's just a close friend, that's all."

Colleen turns to him with the most knowing expression he's ever seen. It seems to cut right through him.

"Really?" Colleen says. "Because I've seen the way you look at her. That's not something you can fake."

"I can't act on it, either," Shiro says.

He stops. Because it is the first time he has admitted out loud - even to himself - that he _wants_ to act on it. That there is _something there_ to be acted upon. He has pushed it down and locked it away and told himself that it is just honour that drives him; that it is just the fulfilment of a dying mother's last wish for her daughter.

But it's more than that. Under the weight of Mrs Holt's knowing gaze, it's harder to deny the obvious. Something deeper than duty compels him to remain by Allura's side - and exactly how deep that feeling runs, and the precise nature of it, is not a question he wants to answer.

Because there is no hope for this, one way or the other. Even if Allura felt the same way - even if, by some miraculous twist of fate, she also felt that there was something between them - they cannot act on it even if they both wanted to. Allura is still royalty, and the last heir to the Altean throne. And he is still just a soldier from Nyhon, sworn to defend the crown. The closeness they have felt on the road is temporary; once they get to Olkar, that intimacy will disappear. Allura will resume her role as the Princess, and he will resume his role as her guard and protector, and there is no way, at that point, that they could even be friends. Let alone anything else.

It was easier to ignore it all when they were on the road - when every day was a struggle, and the constant need to find food and shelter and survive the night kept Shiro from thinking too deeply about what he felt for her. But they have spent the last five days living in close quarters, safe and warm with the Holts. He has spent five days pretending to be Allura's husband. And that has blurred all the mental lines that he drew for himself, to keep himself from acknowledging the truth. And the truth is that he is drawn to her - that some thread binds his heart to her and keeps him by her side - and it has nothing to do with his job or the oath he swore to protect the crown.

He looks away from Colleen - towards the shelves and the ceiling - because her gaze bores through him to the core and he's not sure how much of the truth he wants her to see. He braces for her reaction. Maybe she will tell him that the heart finds a way, or there's always hope for such things, or he shouldn't give up… and he doesn't want to hear that, because she's wrong about it, and he can't explain _why_ she's wrong without completely ruining Allura's cover. But in fact, she says nothing of the sort.

"Ah, so _that's_ the way of it," she says, and Shiro turns to her in surprise. She gives him a sympathetic smile.

"It's a noble thing you're doing," she says. "And whatever is keeping you two apart - well - I hope you find a way around it."

This, on top of everything else, is enough to throw Shiro completely. He has no idea what to say to her.

"Uh - thank you," he says, although he's not sure what for.

"I won't say anything to anyone," Colleen says. She lays a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't worry about that. Your secret is safe with us."

"Thank you," Shiro says again, more sincerely this time. "For everything."

Mrs Holt gives him a warm smile. "Go ahead and take up _Hime-sama's_ tea before it gets cold. Go on."

She shoos him out of the kitchen, and whilst Colleen stays downstairs to bolt the doors and extinguish the lamps, Shiro heads for the staircase with Allura's tea in his hand. He tries to wrap his mind around Colleen's words, and the knowing look she gave him, and the way she cut through all the deception he built for himself.

Perhaps it's better to own the truth, however painful it might be. There is no point denying it any longer. He cannot tell Allura how he feels, but he can at least be honest with himself. And the honest truth is that he cares about her much more than he should, and he does not know how to deal with that, or how she would react if she knew. So it is better if she doesn't find out. It would only complicate things between them, and she needs to focus on surviving and getting to safety and rebuilding Altea. His feelings don't matter - not compared to the wellbeing of an entire country - and it would be selfish of him to bring it up. Allura doesn't need to hear it; not when she is grieving and struggling and carrying the weight of her people's fate on her shoulders.

Shiro pauses outside the bedroom door, and takes a deep breath. He reminds himself that nothing has changed - even though everything feels different, somehow, as if Colleen's words tilted his whole world on its axis and set it spinning in a new direction. He is suddenly intensely aware of every action and word, as if Allura will scrutinise everything he does for evidence of his deeper feelings. He shakes his head. This is ridiculous, and if he hangs around in the corridor too long he will draw attention to himself. He pushes open the door and steps inside.

He finds Allura sitting on the bed in her nightgown, working her neck back and forth.

"Are you alright?" Shiro asks. "I brought you some tea."

"Thank you," Allura says. She leaves off rubbing her shoulders to take the mug out of his hand. "My back is hurting."

He sits down next to her on the bed, without stopping to think it through.

"It's probably because you're feeling anxious," he says. "Turn around. Let me help."

She smiles at him, and shifts around on the bed until she has her back to him. He puts his hands on her neck, and feels the tension in her muscles, and the way her shoulders hunch up around her ears. He sets to work trying to massage some of the tightness out of her body, and she gives a contented groan as his thumbs rub over her spine and down towards her shoulder blades.

The heightened awareness and anxiety that he felt before he stepped into the room melts away, as he kneads at Allura's back and shoulders and she sips on her tea and leans into the movement of his hands. It feels so natural being around her that it is easy to slip back into the casual pattern they have built for themselves. A sense of calm falls between them, even without words, as the lamps flicker and the fire burns low and the moon winks at them through the window.

"Better?" Shiro asks softly.

Allura nods. "What were you talking about with Mrs Holt?"

"I just wanted to ask her not to say anything about us being here," Shiro says. "But she said she won't."

"Mmm. That's good."

"She knows you're Blessed, though," Shiro adds. Allura's shoulders tense up under his touch, and he tuts at her.

"Calm down. She's known all along. She's not going to tell anyone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

He relates much of his conversation with Mrs Holt, and what she said about the Northern Wilds, and how highly they view the Blessed in these parts. Allura nods, and her shoulders gradually ease down again.

"The mayor in town said something similar, didn't he?" she asks.

"Yes. He did. And I'm inclined to believe it."

"It reminds me of what Matthew was talking about at the dinner table," Allura goes on. "About wanting to fight back against the Galra."

"Well, you have a lot of supporters in Altea," Shiro says. "It shouldn't come as a surprise that people want to help you. And the rest of the Blessed."

"Is that why you told Katie I'd be coming back?" Allura asks. She turns around to face him, the mug of tea still in her hands and a playful expression on her face. Shiro is suddenly eternally grateful that Katie did not relay the rest of his gushing endorsement of Princess Allura from the ride home, because he'd never live that down even if he stayed by Allura's side for years.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" he says, and it earns him a smile.

"So did Mrs Holt also figure out our fake marriage?" Allura asks.

The memory of Colleen's words in the kitchen rises up to rob him of the breath in his chest, and he wills himself to act normal and not blush.

"Yeah, she knows we're not married," he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage.

Allura nods. Her face goes carefully neutral, and Shiro wonders if she is mad that he blew their cover.

"I suppose it's a relief not to have to pretend anymore," she says, and there's an odd sense of distance in her voice.

"Well… everyone else still thinks we're husband and wife," Shiro points out. "I'm not sure if Mrs Holt told them yet. And she might not want the kids to know the truth."

Allura's eyes search his face, and then her gaze drops and she takes a sip from her mug. Shiro thinks he catches the hint of a smile before she raises the cup to her lips, but by the time she drains the last of the tea and puts the mug aside her face is once more composed.

"That's a good point," she says. "I suppose it doesn't hurt to keep pretending. It's only one more morning."

"Right."

"Speaking of which, we should get some sleep," Allura says. "We have an early start."

Shiro nods, and gets up to get ready for bed. He heads to the washroom, and by the time he comes back Allura is already under the covers. Shiro extinguishes the lamps, and hesitates. His usual place is beside Allura, in the bed, but after his conversation with Colleen he finds himself second-guessing that decision. Maybe it's better to sleep on the cot, away from temptation.

"Shiro?" Allura says, her voice sleepy and soft, and he gives in and climbs into the bed next to her.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm sorry I called you an idiot," she says. She rolls over onto her side so that she lies facing him, watching him drowsily as he pulls the covers around himself.

"It's fine," he chuckles. "You're probably right."

"Why do you find it so hard to accept that I worry about you?" she asks.

"Because it's supposed to be the other way around," he says. "I'm the guard, remember? And you're the Princess. I look after you. That's how it goes."

"I know," she whispers. "But I care about you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"You care about me, huh?" he says. He tries to make it sound light and teasing, but in reality the words burn like fire in his chest, and he can barely breathe.

"Don't let it go to your head," Allura mumbles, her eyes closing with weariness. She smiles softly in the moonlight, and Shiro cannot resist running his fingers down her hairline until his thumb brushes her cheek.

"I won't," he whispers.

He watches her drift off into sleep, her lips slightly parted, her breathing even and gentle. And he wonders what it would be like to pull her into his chest; to leave a row of delicate kisses along her shoulder and up her neck; to find her lips with his and feel the warm exhale of her breath, shaky and desperate and full of need…

He bites his lip and whispers a curse into the darkness. He wants something forbidden - something he can never have. Admitting the truth does not make it any easier to bear.

He rolls over and puts his back to her, and wills himself to close his eyes and think about something else. But the ache in his chest lingers, and when he falls asleep he dreams of her in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented so far! up next: Allura's POV! :D


	9. a field of forget-me-nots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Allura Contemplates Her Position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i haven't updated in a month or so, buuttttt to make up for it, this chapter is pretty heckin long. i usually try to break up long-ass chapters, but this one didn't have a natural break in the flow and would just have made one long chapter and then one weirdly short one. so i figured i'd just leave it as one huge beast, since it's been a while since i updated anyway. also, as promised - it's time for Allura's POV!

When Allura wakes the next morning, she finds the bed beside her empty. Shiro must have risen early, as usual, and gone downstairs to help Mrs Holt. Allura gets up and dresses, and makes her way down to the kitchen, where she finds Shiro and the Holt siblings helping Colleen set the table.

She hesitates in the doorway. Mrs Holt knows they are not really married - but the rest of the family still believe the ruse, surely? And after this morning there will be no more pretending to be a couple. Perhaps it's selfish, but she has grown used to Shiro's casual touches. There's something strangely comforting about the way he takes her hand or touches her waist, and this morning might be her last chance to experience it before they take to the road again.

She crosses to his side, and Shiro leaves off setting the table so he can wrap one arm around her shoulders and press a gentle kiss to her temple. Allura looks up to find Mrs Holt watching them thoughtfully, but she says nothing about it, and Allura sits down at the table beside Shiro as Colleen and Matthew serve the food.

She will miss the Holts, Allura thinks, as they all sit down to eat. They remind her of her own family, and the meals they shared together back at the castle in Oriande. Of course, it is different in many ways - a rustic farmhouse kitchen instead of a grand dining room; a simple, hearty meal instead of the delicacies prepared for her by the royal chefs. But the way the family talks and laughs feels familiar and comforting, even though it is a reminder of everything she has lost.

Perhaps she can find a way to thank them, someday. Perhaps Shiro can help her find them again, after all of this is over and she is restored once more to her throne.

After breakfast, Allura goes back upstairs to the room one last time. She checks the dressers and the bed and the chair, but everything is accounted for. The packs sit ready by the door; her cloak hangs on a peg beside the window. Their time with the Holts is really over.

She takes the opportunity to pray her ritual devotions before they leave, kneeling on the floor and facing the sunrise. After several days of being too ill to perform them correctly, the ritual brings back a sensation of comfort and normalcy. In the first few days of their flight from Oriande, it was so tempting to give this up - to discard it and leave it behind her, like the rest of her former life. But Shiro never let her, and gently reminded her every morning that she needed to offer her prayers, and now she is grateful that he did. He helped her keep a part of herself untouched by the horrors of Zarkon's attack on her family. She is still Blessed, and that still has meaning and power no matter the circumstances.

Shiro himself comes in as she moves through the movements of the devotions, and even though she does not falter in her chanting, she is still acutely aware of his presence. He sits quietly and watches her pray, and as she finishes he stands up without being asked and lets her place her hands on his chest.

This is her favourite part of the day, although Allura tries not to admit it. There is such a wonderful closeness to it. She has never shared the Blessings of the Goddess with anyone outside of her closest friends and family members - not even past lovers - but with Shiro it feels natural. The quintessence flows out of her and into his body with no trace of resistance, as if their energies form a perfect harmony. In these moments, she is able to repay him for all the hardships he has endured to keep her safe, and ease some of the worry and stress he takes on in his efforts to protect her.

Today, his heartbeat feels a little fast under her hands, and Allura wonders if he is nervous about departing - or about the Galra soldiers he spotted in town. But when she looks up to meet his gaze, his grey eyes are as soft as ever, and he smiles at her reassuringly.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"Almost," she says.

She steps past him to the dressing table to finish getting ready. The chest and arm guards that Katie made for her are comfortable enough to be worn over her clothes, and Allura slips on the soft leather and fastens the straps. She hangs her cloak around her shoulders and pins it at the neck. As she adjusts the fold of the fabric, she catches sight of Shiro's reflection in the mirror. He stands behind her and watches her, a slight frown on his face.

"What is it?" she asks. She turns to find him fidgeting with something in his hands.

"I, uh, I got you something," he stammers. He looks almost flustered. It's not an expression she's ever associated with Shiro - the stoic Captain of the Royal Guard - but over the weeks they've spent together it's a side of him she's seen more and more often. He hands her the object he's holding, and as she takes it from his hands she realises what it is - a headscarf embroidered with pink juniberry flowers.

"You said you wanted something to keep your hair back," he says, and the words seem to tumble out of him. "I thought you might like this."

Allura runs the scarf through her fingers, mesmerised by the beauty of it. The fabric is soft; the embroidery exquisite.

"It's perfect," she murmurs. She glances up to find Shiro looking at her like he's afraid he's done something wrong, and she has to smother a laugh at his expression. She turns back to the mirror and ties the scarf in place around her forehead. Not only does it hold back the loose curls, it also helps to disguise the white roots of her hair. The colour complements her skintone, and the pink of the flowers matches her eyes perfectly.

"How does it look?" She turns around for Shiro's opinion.

"You look-- uh, I mean," he starts again, "it looks nice. The scarf. Do you like it?"

He gazes at her apprehensively, and Allura senses the tension behind his eyes, as if he's still unsure of the gift or the appropriateness of it. Worry hangs off him, as if he is afraid she will reject it - or him.

She can't seem to find the words to tell him how much she appreciates the gift, and the thought behind it. Instead, she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him.

"Thank you," she whispers.

The sudden movement takes him by surprise, and he hesitates for a moment, his body tense beneath her touch. But then he embraces her carefully, his hands just lightly pressed to her back.

"Thank you for everything," she goes on. "For keeping me safe all this time."

She tucks her head into his neck and waits for him to say what he usually says: that it is his duty to guard her and protect her, that he promised her mother he would keep her safe, that he is a soldier and she is his Princess. She stands and waits for him to put the distance back between them. But instead his arms tighten around her, and he exhales against her cheek.

"You know I would do anything for you," he whispers.

Standing in the circle of his embrace, she believes it. But the admission still catches her by surprise. When she pulls back to look at Shiro, he seems surprised too - as if he did not mean to let the words slip out.

"I know," she says softly. He stands there with his hands on her waist, his eyes wide and bright, and they look at each other in breathless stillness.

A knock at the door makes Shiro pull away suddenly, and Allura shakes herself.

"Are you ready to go?" Sam Holt's voice echoes through the doorway.

"We're just coming," Shiro calls. Allura glances over at him, and finds him once more stoic and composed.

He helps her on with her knapsack, and Allura hangs the quiver of arrows from her belt. The bow itself slides into a leather holster across her back, tucked under the pack. She pulls on her boots and they head downstairs to where the Holts are waiting to wave them off.

Their goodbyes with the family are emotional - almost tearful, in fact. Allura hugs Colleen tightly and murmurs her thanks in her ear, and then Samuel shakes her warmly by the hand. She thanks Katie again for the bow, whilst says his goodbyes to Matthew. Then the Holts stand and watch them from the gateway of their yard as they head down the side of the valley and take the footpath that leads north. They pause to turn back and wave, before a bend in the track carries them out of sight of the farm.

They walk in silence. Shiro seems subdued, but perhaps it is just anxiety over her condition - Allura catches him glancing around at her with a frown tugging at his brows, but she reassures him that she is fine. The fever has passed, and the sickness that weakened her so dramatically has abated. Her throat still feels a little sore, but it is nothing to worry about. But despite her reassurances, Shiro keeps checking up on her. Sometimes, he looks as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it and instead continues on in silence, save for the occasional observation or instruction.

Allura walks behind him as and they pass down the side of the valley and find a shaded path that takes them up the next hill. Not for the first time, she finds herself contemplating the puzzle that is Shiro.

He was not such a mystery back in Oriande, of course. There, he was the Captain of the Guard, and she was the Crown Princess and Heir to the Throne, and that was that. Their professional roles kept them in separate spheres, and they barely interacted beyond what was absolutely necessary. Not that Allura didn't _want_ to talk to him more, or find out more about him - but they had no need for it, and her father always cautioned her against distracting the Guards from their duties.

She watches Shiro's back as they pass through a stand of trees: the broad expanse of his shoulders; the dark hair that is now grown out enough to be tied into a rough topknot; long legs that eat up the ground with ease. Out of sight of his watchful gaze, she chews her lip and tries to figure him out.

She remembers, very clearly, the first day they met - the day her father introduced him as the new Guard Captain. His predecessor in the position was Captain Merla, a cheerful, pragmatic woman in her forties who had watched over the royal family since Allura was an infant. Accordingly, she treated Allura like a favoured niece, and her presence had been a near constant during Allura's childhood and adolescence. But King Alfor eventually promoted Merla to a position on the royal council, as a reward for her years of service, and that left an opening for a new Captain of the Guard.

Allura still recalls the day her father brought Shiro into the royal suites and introduced him to the family as Merla's replacement. The memory comes back to her with vivid clarity: Shiro standing to attention, exchanging polite words and the ghost of a smile with her mother, pledging to protect the family with his dying breath if need be. She remembers her father's enthusiasm at the appointment, and his commendation of Captain Shiro as one of the best young officers the army had ever seen. But more than anything else, she remembers the dawning realisation that the guard personally overseeing the safety of the royal family would no longer be a sturdy older woman with grey hair and a maternal expression, but would instead be an extremely attractive young man of around her own age. That particular revelation had kept her up at night for over a week, and more than one of those evenings had been spent indulging in some very entertaining fantasies about the man in question.

She blushes at the memory of it, but mercifully Shiro is engrossed in the path ahead and does not notice. Allura studies the back of his head as he walks. His hand comes to rest on the pommel of his sword, and she wonders what he is thinking about, and if he is worried about enemies catching them unawares.

Of course, back in Oriande it never mattered that she found him rather… _enjoyable_ to think about. The separate circuits of their lives meant that nothing would ever come of it. So what if she sometimes conjured the image of him in her most private moments? It wasn't as if he would ever find out, or she could ever do anything about it if he did.

Besides, she had never really spoken to him, and that helped to keep him firmly in the category of a distraction, and nothing more. He was very pleasant to look at - a delightful addition to the aesthetic of any room, especially in his formal uniform - but without the fuel of conversation her interest in him had remained purely superficial.

And then they fled Oriande together, and without the buffer of their duties there was nothing to stop them becoming friends, and now… Allura frowns at his back. Now _what_ , exactly?

She had always thought of Shiro as rather stoic, but out here in the wilds… he's nothing like that. There's a warmth to him that took her completely by surprise, and in her darkest moments he has shown her nothing but patience and kindness. Her grief seems less heavy because of him; her quest does not feel like an impossible burden.

But it is more than that. Sometimes the way he looks at her sends a flood of warmth rushing through her. Or he smiles at her, and her heart skips unexpectedly in her chest. Sometimes she fancies she catches a flush of crimson in his cheeks when he takes her hand.

She must be imagining it, surely? She shifts the knapsack on her back and purses her lips as they turn a corner in the grove of trees and descend into a mossy dell, where sunlight dapples the undergrowth and tiny forget-me-nots grow wild among the grass. Allura reaches down absently and plucks one of the delicate flowers, and twirls it between her fingers.

She is probably reading too much into things. Shiro is a soldier; he knows the importance of morale. Clearly, his attentions are just some kind of tactic to keep up her spirits. That's all it is. He would probably think her incredibly foolish for coming up with fanciful hidden meanings behind every friendly smile or small act of kindness. The silly spoiled princess, getting carried away with herself, seeing things that aren't there. And what does it matter, anyway?

They reach the edge of the dell, where a tree has fallen across the path, and Shiro turns around to offer her his hand. Allura takes it gratefully, and he helps her scramble over the slippery log and find her footing again on the other side.

"Thank you," she says.

He smiles at her, half-shy, and - _no_. She is not imagining the warmth in his eyes or the faint flush in his cheeks, or the way his hand lingers in hers just a little longer than it needs to. But what does it mean? And what does she _want_ it to mean?

Shiro turns back to the path, and she follows him over the rocks and out of the glade. She is no closer to puzzling him out, she realises. Or sorting out her own feelings, for that matter.

It was easier in Oriande, where he was the Guard and she was the Princess, and they were not friends, and they did not sleep beside each other in the wild, bodies curled together for warmth and comfort. It was all so much easier before she saw this other side of him: funny and playful and sweet, always making her smile even when her grief weighs so heavy on her shoulders she can barely breathe.

This was not something she could ever explore, back in her old life as the Crown Princess of Altea. Her behaviour there was always under scrutiny; the slightest misstep could quickly escalate to a scandal. Her parents expected her to set a good example - not just as one of the Blessed, but also as the future Queen of Altea. The heir to the throne could not be caught flirting with guards, let alone… anything else. She could not indulge in discreet dalliances with the household servants, the way some of her cousins did. She wore the crown of Altea, and bore the responsibility that went with it.

She wonders what her parents would think of her now, traipsing through the wilds with the Captain of the Guard. The old rules no longer apply. They are in disguise, on the run, far from home and comfort. So what if she _did_ have feelings for Shiro? She could act on them and no one would know. The thought brings with it a strange thrill.

But it is an odd thing to think about. For weeks, she has had no room in her heart or mind for anything but grief. The pain of losing her entire family threatened to bury her alive - but Shiro kept her head above water, held her through the worst of the tears, helped her say goodbye. Perhaps all she feels for him is gratitude, then. Perhaps the pain of loss made her attach to him because he was _there_ , and she had no one else.

But he was more than _just there_ , wasn't he? She recalls him kneeling beside her in the grass, burning incense beneath the tree in the Holts' paddock, chanting the prayers of his people for her family members. She remembers the nights when she cried herself to sleep in his arms, and he held her so tenderly and spoke so softly, and never once complained. He has done more than his duty demands - much more - and Allura still does not know what to make of that.

Is it wrong to want something good in the midst of her fear and pain? Is it selfish to crave comfort and closeness? The conflicting feelings war in her heart, and she is no closer to puzzling them out.

She wonders how her family would react to all of this - and what they would think of Shiro. She imagines herself bringing him to her parents as a suitor, and tries to picture their responses. Her father would disapprove of her flirting with his Captain of the Guard, perhaps. Maybe her mother would caution her over the scandal that such a liaison would bring to the royal household. The court would explode with gossip about the only child of the King and Queen giving her heart to a soldier - and as much as Allura hates to admit it, the fact that Shiro is not an Ancient Altean - that he is from Nyhon, of all places - would only add to the scandal. Altean snobbishness runs deep, after all.

She would have had at least one supporter, though. Her Aunt Romelle had always been a law unto herself, and had defied the protocols of the court to marry a servant. She got away with it only because she was the youngest of the royal siblings, and therefore furthest down the line of succession. And even then, the matter had required some discreet manoeuvrings from King Alfor to pull it off without causing outrage in Oriande.

Allura was fifteen when it happened - old enough to remember the muttering around court, and the snide remarks, and the general air of disapproval over Romelle's choice. But she remembers, too, how her father stuck up for his youngest sister and intervened to make sure the match could take place. The King's intercession was what allowed the handmaid Esma to leave the service of the royal household, having _suddenly_ come into a modest yet respectable fortune, courtesy of some _'unknown benefactor'_. And then a few months later, _Lady_ Esma was introduced at court, and a royal wedding was announced not long after.

Allura twirls the flower in her hand as she crests the rise of the hill and looks down at the next valley spread out below them, and the narrow lake that catches the sunlight between the steep slope of the land. Shiro stops beside her, and they take a moment to catch their breath and sip some water from their canteens.

It had always annoyed Allura that Esma's rise from handmaiden to nobility had been handled like a dirty secret. Because everyone _knew_. The ploy did not fool anyone - and that was never the intention of it - and yet so many of the nobles and courtiers pretended that they had never met Esma before, despite her having served by Romelle's side for years. The time she spent as Aunt Romelle's maid and trusted confidante, supporting her and being there for her in the ups and downs of her day-to-day life… that part of Esma's life was erased from existence. People acted like she had sprung from the earth fully-formed in her new finery and title, as if the years she spent in loyal service to the royal family held no worth or value.

Allura frowns as she looks out at the valley. Back at the Holt farm, she told Shiro Esma's name, and he wrote it on a stone beside Romelle's. He held her while she cried for her aunts, and their love cut cruelly short by Zarkon's greed. Would that kindness mean nothing to the people of her court, because it came from a guard and not a gentleman? The thought irritates her. It grates on her nerves to think that people would undervalue Shiro's role in her life, just because he is a soldier from Nyhon and not some wealthy lord.

Her thoughts stray back to Romelle and Esma, and their marriage that endured the disapproval of the court and came out stronger for it. And now they're gone. Just… gone, in an instant, along with everyone else. As the weeks pass and the suffocating clouds of grief begin to lift, Allura finds a bright, burning coal of anger beneath the fog. Anger at Zarkon, and Lotor, and Queen Haggar. Anger at the betrayal that stole her family from her. But she has rage enough to spare for Altea, too, and what is being done to the land now that the Blessed are no longer able to protect it.

"What's the matter?" Shiro asks.

She has been scowling, she realises, and she glances over to find Shiro watching her with concern in his eyes.

"It's nothing," she says. "I was just thinking about my family."

"You look like you're plotting your revenge."

"I suppose I am," she says softly. She turns back to the landscape before her, and the gentle roll of the hills beneath a flawless blue sky. It will be a long time before she can exact justice for her loved ones, and expel Zarkon and the Galra from her kingdom. But in the meantime, there is one small thing she can do to resist.

She closes her eyes and feels the earth beneath her, and the energy that flows through it. It has been weeks since she performed any major Rituals or Rites, and her sense for the quintessence of the land is no longer as keen and bright as it was in Oriande. But she can still feel the shape of the ley lines, and the flow of power underneath the hills. Temples and menhirs and stone circles stand out against the tide of energy, like focal points in the stream. There is a stone circle not far from here - old, by the feel of it, and probably long neglected - but it will suffice.

"We should head that way," Shiro says beside her, and Allura opens her eyes to find him pointing to a narrow trail leading to their right and winding down the side of the valley.

Allura shakes her head. "We should go left," she says.

"Why?"

She shrugs. "I just have a good feeling about it."

She does not tell him that the stone circle lies in that direction. If he suspects what she has planned he will take them in the opposite direction on purpose, and this is something she needs to do.

She looks over at him, but there's no trace of suspicion in his eyes. He smiles at her.

"You're the one who's Blessed," he says simply. "I'll take your word for it."

They walk for almost an hour, following a path that grows narrower and more overgrown as it climbs around the edge of the valley. Allura feels the movement of the quintessence in the land, pulling her on like a thread towards the stone circle. Eventually, they climb a steep rise towards the crown of a hill, and find themselves in a copse of ancient trees perched right at the peak. Beneath the trailing undergrowth, the stone circle stands abandoned and neglected, but the paved space between the five pillars remains clear.

Allura stops in the centre of the stone circle and looks around. Here, the background hum of quintessence pulses like a gentle heartbeat, and her body echoes it back to the land. Her palms tingle as her own energy comes into alignment with the circle, and she feels the rush of power down the ley line beneath her. The tree branches hang low overhead, shading the roundel and casting the glade in ethereal silence. Allura takes a deep breath, and lets her body relax into the flow of quintessence.

"Did you know this was here?" Shiro asks behind her. She turns to find him watching her from the edge of the circle, standing close to one of the pillars. Disapproval creeps into his expression. He did not suspect her before, but he definitely does now.

"This is why I brought us this way," she says.

"Oh, no," Shiro says. He holds up a finger in warning, and crosses the circle towards her.

"Shiro…" she begins.

"No. Absolutely not. You cannot perform Rituals out here!"

"It's just a small one!" she pleads.

"It's not safe!"

She takes the finger he is wagging at her, but he holds up his other hand and repeats the gesture until Allura pouts at him.

"Don't pull that face," he says. "We talked about this. Lotor will know we came this way. Queen Haggar will be able to find you."

"She won't, I promise," Allura says. "I just want to do a Minor Ritual of Healing. Any Blessed could do it! She'll never know it was me."

Shiro rolls his eyes. "I thought we agreed on this. Why do you suddenly want to do this now?"

"Because we left the Holts unprotected," Allura says. "The corruption from Pollux will spread, and their farm will die. They'll have nothing left."

Shiro frowns and looks away from her, at the circle and the protective ring of trees. When he speaks, his voice is tight.

"I know," he says quietly. "But there's nothing we can do about that right now."

"There is," Allura counters. "I can perform a small ritual, just enough to protect the land for a few miles around this monument. It will shield the Holts from the worst of it."

"I can't let you risk it," Shiro says. "I'm sorry. I know you want to, but it's too dangerous."

She gazes up at him, and the concern etched into his face.

"Is it more dangerous than me getting sick again?" she asks.

Shiro's frown deepens. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Allura pulls out the pendant she wears every day beneath her tunic - the one her mother gave her.

"This is a sacred crystal from the _Qalbayus_ in Oriande," she says. "I can infuse it with healing energy from the Ritual. It will stop me falling ill again."

She watches Shiro's expression go from disapproving to conflicted, and a pang of guilt blossoms in her chest like an ugly welt. His first instinct is always to protect her, and now she is using that against him to get him to agree to this. He knows it, too.

"That's not fair," he says. "You're just saying that so I'll let you do it."

"But it's true," she insists. "You can't protect me from getting sick. Or from Haggar's corruption. But I can protect myself, if you let me."

He scrubs a hand over his face. "Come on, Allura, don't do this to me," he mutters, and the sound of it tugs at her heart. But she presses on, because this is important.

"You got to help the Holts," she says. "You got to repay them, and I didn't. I just sat in their spare room for days, eating their food and taking their medicine. And this is the one thing I can actually do to return their kindness."

"You will repay their kindness by freeing Altea from the Galra," Shiro points out. "Which you can't do if we get caught doing magic rituals in abandoned temples."

"We can't do it if I'm unwell, either," she says. "What happens when I get sick again? What if there's no one to help us next time?"

Fear clouds Shiro's eyes as she says it; the fear of being powerless to help her again. On impulse, she lays a hand on his chest, and feels the steady beat of his heart pick up beneath her palm.

"Please, Shiro," she whispers. "I promise we won't be in any danger. The risk is worth it."

He gazes down at her, forehead pulled into a frown, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. It is one of those expressions that makes it hard for Allura to breathe; as if the air between them is filled with sparks. He looks down at her hand on his chest, and sighs.

"Alright," he says. "I give up. Do it."

She beams at him, and his expression softens somewhat, as if he wants to be annoyed but can't quite manage it.

"Stand back," she tells him, and she shoos him out of the circle towards the treeline. He sits on a log, and she leaves her pack and bow with him and steps back into the centre of the roundel.

She scuffs the ground with her toe and finds the runes engraved in the paving slabs. The alchemy ring will not fade with time, and the symbols remain intact despite the wear to the surrounding stonework. Allura stands in the very centre of the circle, arms held out, and closes her eyes.

The energy of the land thrums around her, but the circle of standing stones bends the flow of the ley line to create a focal point; a node where Allura can change the nature of the quintessence to suit her purposes. The Minor Ritual of Healing will only modify it slightly - infusing the ley line with a subtle but long-lasting restorative effect that will lie deep within the land for months to come. Allura reaches out - feels the power beneath her, around her - and she opens her heart and mind to it and lets it flow through her.

The Ritual begins with a prayer to the Goddess, like all sacred rites, and Allura chants the words from memory. Quintessence surges through her, and she opens her eyes and looks down at the alchemy circle at her feet. She speaks the words that activate the runes of the Ritual, and the symbols on the ground light up with a white glow.

She takes a deep breath, and gathers power within her. This part takes concentration and skill; she must modulate the energy according to her needs. As the alchemic runes activate, she uses her own body as the conduit for the ley line, and as it passes through her she wills it to become a force for healing and nurturing.

The land resists her, and she senses the taint of Haggar's corruption making the quintessence sluggish and slow. She whispers more prayers to the Goddess, soft and soothing, and tries again. Gently - gently - she coaxes the power to her side. Now when she asks it to change for her, it does so. The corruption fades away, and in its place she leaves energy filled with healing power.

Finally, she drops to her knees in the centre of the ring of stone, and presses both hands to the ground. The alchemy circle blazes white, and Allura focuses all her will on infusing the changed quintessence into the land. The crystalline pillars light up, one by one, as the circle takes on the charge of her alchemy. Allura lets the power ripple out of her; lets the healing energy flow through her and into the earth. As it passes, she captures some of it for herself and channels it into the crystal around her neck.

The last of the borrowed quintessence drains from her body, and the runes fade back down to normal. She lets go of the land's energy, and feels it ebb away until she is holding only her own power in her body. The ritual ends with another prayer, thanking the Goddess for Her blessings, and Allura whispers it towards the stones.

The moments after performing a sacred rite are always filled with a strange peace, when she feels in perfect harmony with the land beneath her. Allura breathes it in and lets herself enjoy it. Who knows when she will get the chance to perform another ritual like this? For now, she savours the gentle sensation of being attuned to the energy of the world around her, feeling everything wash over her in waves.

She stands up and opens her eyes, and finds Shiro hovering a few feet away, inside the ring of stone pillars. He crosses to her side, and takes the crystal pendant between his fingers. The gem glows softly, and Shiro rubs it with his thumb.

"So this is magical now?" he asks.

Allura gives him a stern look. "It's Blessed by the Goddess. The healing quintessence will shield me from any of Haggar's tainted energy."

She takes the crystal out of his hand so she can tuck it back inside her tunic, and as their fingers brush together she feels the gentle hum of his quintessence. The ritual has left her sensitive to the energy around her - and that includes Shiro's. By now they have spent so much time together that even his quintessence feels comforting and familiar, and Allura smiles to herself.

"We can get going, if you want," she says.

"Actually, I think we should wait for a bit." Shiro gestures at the marks on her cheeks. "Your, uh-- you're glowing."

"Oh!" she puts a hand to her face instinctively. Of course. The ritual activated her quintessence, and made the marks on her cheeks glow. She is so used to it that the natural response slipped her mind completely. It has never mattered before - everyone always knew she was Blessed, and she has never tried to hide it. Until now.

"I don't want to risk running into someone just yet," Shiro goes on. "They might get suspicious if they see someone come out of a sacred monument with their cheeks glowing."

"Well, they'd probably just think that we were… you know…" She doesn't have the courage to say _'kissing'_ , but Shiro catches her meaning anyway, and his ears burn bright red. He looks away from her and studies the trees.

"Let's just… not risk it," he mumbles.

Allura bites her lip. She wonders if she made him uncomfortable. She is one of the Blessed, of course, and her marks will light up in response to any surge in quintessence. But for most Alteans, the tell-tale glow in the cheeks is associated only with passion and intimacy. It is such a common response that over the centuries it has become a term of endearment between lovers: _my marksglow_ ; the person who makes my marks glow. Accordingly, anyone who sees Allura emerging from a patch of woodland with her cheeks shimmering will assume that they are a young couple, pausing on their journey to make love in a secluded glade.

She glances up at Shiro standing next to her, and longs to know what he's thinking. He looks down at her, as if sensing the weight of her gaze, and even though the blush still lingers in his cheeks he still grins at her.

"Anyway, my marks aren't glowing," he says. "So it would look a little one-sided, don't you think?"

He raises an eyebrow at her. Allura has a sudden vision of Shiro pressed up close to her, his eyes heavy with desire and his hand buried between her thighs, focused solely on her pleasure and hers alone… And now it is her turn to cough and turn away in embarrassment.

"Yes, that's uh. That's a good point."

She stares at the trees and wills the heat in her cheeks to subside. Is that what she wants from Shiro? Stolen moments in the woods, never spoken of again? She wonders what he would say if she asked for something purely physical - but the idea floods her heart with an unexpected wave of melancholy. And that is odd, because back in Oriande she would have happily asked him for such an arrangement, and been satisfied with it, and then inevitably let it go because there was no way for them to truly be together. But they are not in Oriande anymore. And she does not want to let go of him.

That thought settles in her mind, feather-light but full of implications she does not know how to deal with. She risks a glance at Shiro, and finds him studying their surroundings, his hands shoved into his pockets. Sunlight warms his skin, and the breeze toys with his hair, and Allura finds she cannot look away from him.

She does not want to let him go. At some point, she just assumed that he would stay with her all the way to Olkar, and then beyond, and when she rides back into Altea in triumph she just assumed he'd be there, too. By her side.

When did she stop thinking of him as her guard and start thinking of him as her closest friend? She can't remember. It crept up on her slowly, and now here they are, standing in sunlight, and she feels deeply, profoundly drawn to him. The longer their journey goes on, the harder it gets to resist that feeling.

He turns back to her and smiles, and if he is surprised to find her staring at him, he doesn't let on.

"You never really told me how Queen Haggar can corrupt the temples," he says. "The _Qalbayus_ is supposed to protect us, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately, it's not as simple as that," Allura says, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. She takes a few paces across the circle and sits down on a piece of fallen masonry, and Shiro joins her. They look out at the ancient monument; the pillars turned completely to crystal, glinting in the sunlight; the vines and ivy that overgrow the paving slabs; the woodland that crowds around the circle's perimeter. A few clouds scud by overhead, but otherwise the day is clear and perfect.

"Have you ever seen the _Qalbayus_?" Allura asks.

Shiro shakes his head. "Not up close."

"But you accompanied me to the Temple of the White Lion several times," Allura says with a frown.

"Yes, but usually when you're inside the inner chambers, I'm outside the door watching the crowd, remember?"

He smiles as he says it, and smiles back at the memory. Of course, there was a time when he _wasn't_ by her side at every hour of the day or night, no matter what. It feels so long ago, somehow.

"The _Qalbayus_ is a huge crystal," she explains. "You don't realise just how big it is until you get close to it, because so much of it is buried in the earth. The Temple of the White Lion was simply built around it."

Shiro listens attentively as she talks, his face pulled into an expression halfway between curiosity and confusion. Allura tries not to get distracted by how adorable it is.

"The energy of the _Qalbayus_ is naturally pure," she goes on. "The crystal was a gift from the Goddess herself, and it is the source of all of Altea's Blessings. But it is also a living stone. When you get close to it, the energy inside… moves and responds. You can feel it calling to you."

She closes her eyes, lost in the memory of that sensation.

"Do you think Haggar could corrupt it?" Shiro asks, and she returns to the here and now with a frown.

"Not easily," she says. "The _Qalbayus_ is a huge well of natural quintessence. The only way to alter that would be to corrupt the rest of Altea, until it is surrounded by debased energy, and that would start to leak back into the _Qalbayus_ until it became tainted."

"So that's why she's visiting the Temples?"

Allura nods. "The Temples and monuments all lie on Altea's ley lines. When the energy in a Temple changes, that ripples out to the surrounding land down the ley lines. The more Temples are corrupted, the easier it is for that tainted energy to spread throughout Altea."

She sighs, and looks out at the pillars catching the morning sun.

"All the Temples and sacred circles are connected," she murmurs. "And they are all linked back to the _Qalbayus_ \- to the heart of Altea."

"How so?" Shiro asks. "Because of the ley lines?"

"It's not just that. Every sacred monument in Altea contains shards of crystal taken from the _Qalbayus_. It is how the Temples are made."

"It is?"

She glances over at his shocked tone, and realises - belatedly - that she is spilling the secrets of the Blessed. These topics are not usually discussed with outsiders.

"I shouldn't really tell you that," she mutters.

"Why? Is that the forbidden arcane knowledge of the Sages?"

He grins at her irreverently, and she bites back a laugh.

"It is, actually," she says. "Although I don't suppose it matters now. Just… don't tell anyone I told you."

He laughs. "I won't, I promise."

"Alright. Well… The _Qalbayus_ is alive, remember? And it naturally produces crystal shards, like this one."

She pulls out the pendant, still faintly glowing, and holds it up in the sunlight.

"This is only a tiny fragment, of course," she goes on. "The larger pieces are taken and used to create new Temples and stone circles. That is how the Blessings of the Goddess are spread across Altea. The crystals are placed within new stone pillars, and over time they grow and transform the rock, and the alchemical circle grows stronger and more resilient."

"Wait," Shiro says. "So these pillars… they used to be made of rock?"

"Oh, yes. Centuries ago, when this circle was formed, the pillars would have been stone. But over time, the crystal spreads. Here."

She stands up and reaches for his hand, and he lets her take it and pull him towards the nearest pillar. She runs her hand over the smooth surface, until she finds the customary bump about halfway up the pillar's height.

"Here," she says. She places Shiro's hand over the protrusion in the crystal. "You feel that? That was where the _Qalbayus_ fragment was originally embedded in the stone. And over time, the whole pillar changed."

"How long does it take?" Shiro asks. He still has his hand on the pillar, his fingers exploring the raised point in the mineral surface, and Allura sees no pressing reason to take her hand away from his.

"Centuries," she says. "Do you remember when we went to that Temple in Arcus? The pillars there were half-crystal and half-stone?"

"Yeah, I remember," Shiro says. "I actually managed to get inside that one."

Allura smiles up at him. "Well, that Temple was only about a hundred years old. When Temples or Circles are first built, the Blessed usually perform many Rituals there to help strengthen the alchemy of the place. Because as the crystal spreads throughout the pillars, the connection to the _Qalbayus_ grows stronger."

She drops her hand and turns to look at the stone circle. The glow in the runes has faded; the pillars no longer shine with the light of quintessence. But she can still feel the gentle hum of power, and the deep connection to the land - and to the heart and soul of Altea.

"That is what Haggar will use against us," she says softly. "That connection."

Shiro follows her gaze and stands beside her, his hands once more in his pockets.

"I didn't think it was possible to change the quintessence of the Temples," he says. "It's a scary thing to think about."

"All alchemy works that way," Allura says. "What do you think I just did?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Glowed slightly?"

She meets his cheeky expression with a shove on the arm.

"Very funny," she says.

"Then what did you do?"

"Any alchemy involves changing the nature of the quintessence around us," she explains. "In any sacred rite, the Blessed alter the energy of the land according to what is most needed. We can make the quintessence a force for healing, or nourishing. It can be calming, if the land has been disturbed somehow. Or invigorating and nurturing, if plants and animals are not thriving as they should. It all depends on how the energy is changed."

"So this healing ritual you just did…?"

"I changed the quintessence of the land," she says. "In a way that encourages healing, and dispels corruption."

Shiro looks suitably impressed, and Allura cannot resist the urge to tease him for his awed expression.

"See?" she says. "It's not just 'glowing slightly'."

Shiro chuckles. "Alright, I'm sorry."

They cross back to the fallen rock and sit down again in a shaft of warm sunlight. Allura pulls at the vines that grow over the stone's surface, and twirls a leaf idly between her fingers.

"Altean alchemy is based on the principle of harmony," she goes on. "We work _with_ the energy of the land. We give some of our own quintessence in the process, and offer ourselves up as a conduit for the power to flow and change."

She struggles for the right words to describe it.

"It's like… dancing. Moving with the flow of the ley lines. We never force it. It's… gentle. Natural."

"And I take it Queen Haggar's alchemy is… not like that?"

Allura shakes her head. "Galran alchemy works on a different principle. It is more forceful. It relies more on strength or dominance to force the quintessence to bend to one's will. The art itself is not inherently bad, as such - in fact Galran alchemy has many uses. But the nature of it is such that it lends itself to destructive purposes."

"So what happens if Haggar corrupts the whole of Altea with this energy?" Shiro asks.

"She could use the _Qalbayus_ as a weapon," Allura says. She shudders at the thought of it. "If she succeeds in corrupting all the Temples, the tainted energy will spread throughout Altea until it feeds back into the _Qalbayus_. And then she can turn it to her will. The contamination of Altea will only increase. The network of Temples that were built to nurture the land and help it thrive will become a web of power for Haggar's magic. She can use it to destroy her enemies on a whim."

A heavy silence falls as she finishes talking, and Allura looks over to find Shiro pensive and lost in thought. He scuffs at the ground with his toe.

"Isn't the _Qalbayus_ supposed to be a gift from the Goddess?" he asks. "Won't She protect it? Why would she allow it to be corrupted?"

"That is why I was saved," Allura says quietly.

Shiro looks over at her, and his eyes search her face.

"You really think that?"

"Yes," she says firmly. "I should rightfully have died in Oriande with my family. But I didn't. I survived when no one else did, and I escaped against all odds. I was saved by the Goddess, so that I can return and confront Haggar, and save Altea and our people."

"You think it's fate?"

Allura looks up at the sky, and the birds that wheel overhead.

"Our destinies are written for us by the Goddess," she murmurs. "I am the most powerful Blessed that Altea has ever seen. I have been told that over and over again, my entire life. And I was born into a time when Altea faces its greatest threat. I am alive, now, in this moment in our history, when Haggar seeks to take Altea and corrupt it for her own wicked purposes. I survived an attack that left the rest of my family dead. So the only thing I can think is that this is my destiny. To return to Altea and restore the land. To defeat Zarkon and the Galra, and save Altea from Haggar's corruption."

She glances over at Shiro, where he sits beside her. He smiles softly at her.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says. "It's just… that's such a positive way of looking at it all."

"You don't believe me?"

"Actually… I do. I think you're probably right."

He stands up, and stretches both arms above his head.

"We should get going," he says.

"I'm not glowing?"

"Not noticeably," he says. "Although if you ask me, you've always got something of a glow about you."

The compliment takes her by surprise, and Shiro's smile is so disarming she finds herself momentarily lost for words. Shiro crosses the stone circle and picks up their knapsacks from beside the pillar where he left them, and Allura accepts his help in resettling the pack and bow on her back.

"So what does this make me?" he asks, as they find the path on the other side of the glade and set off down the slope of the hill.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you were saved by the Goddess," Shiro says. "But I was the one who saved you from the castle. So what does that make me?"

"They do say the Goddess works through mortal intermediaries," Allura says, as they pick their way through the undergrowth.

"So I'm an Agent of the Divine Will?"

"Exactly. The Goddess sent you to protect me in my hour of need."

She is only half-serious, but of course Shiro takes it to heart. He turns to her with a mischievous expression that she has come to associate with his most cheeky and outrageous remarks.

"So that makes me an angel, really, if you think about it," he says with a grin. He stops in the middle of the path and looks down at her, one hand on the pommel of his sword, and it is suddenly very tempting to wind him up.

"Angels aren't usually this annoying," Allura says sweetly.

His smile does not falter. Not even for a second.

"You don't think I'm annoying," he says, with a surety that is all the more infuriating because he is right. She doesn't find him annoying at all. Not that she's about to admit that, of course.

"That's a very bold assumption on your part," she says.

"Am I wrong?"

He holds her gaze, and as much as she wants to deflate some of that smug certainty, she finds herself grinning instead. She pokes him in the chest and tries to look stern.

"Keep walking, guardian angel," she mutters.

Shiro chuckles and turns back to the path, and she follows him out of the glade and back into the sunshine.

* * *

The next few days pass largely without incident. The weather remains mostly warm and clear, and they make good progress through the hills, always heading north. Allura is worried at first that they will run into more Galra soldiers, but they barely see another living soul except each other, and she gradually relaxes and focuses on the journey ahead.

They are coming now to the edge of the Northern Wilds, and the land grows more mountainous with every mile. The hills are steeper and the valleys shallower, so each new peak takes them higher than the last. When they look back, they see the ebb and flow of hills behind them, spread out towards the horizon. Herds of sheep give way to wandering goats and wild ponies, and the villages grow smaller and further apart. This part of the Wilds has a bleak and lonely feel to it, but there is a haunting beauty to the landscape nonetheless.

In the evenings, they make camp in one of the numerous caves carved out of the hillsides. As the terrain grows more rocky, these natural shelters become easier to find, so that even as the air takes on the coolness of higher altitude they are able to stay snug and warm at night.

On the second day, Allura shoots a young deer with the bow Katie gave her, and they spend an hour or so skinning the animal and curing some of the meat with some salts that Mrs Holt packed for them. The food supply will keep them going for several days, and it means that they can walk further and set off earlier in the mornings. Shiro is keen to make up for lost time, and Allura is eager to get to Olkar as soon as possible, so they keep up a steady pace, always heading northwards towards the distant mountains and the pass that will take them to Naxum.

The changing geography gradually forces them to adjust their daily travel plans. As the hills grow into mountains, the footpaths become few and far between. Many of the peaks are impassable without hours of climbing, or have no tracks up their sides at all, so that the only route ahead is whichever main road passes through the valley in the shadow of the hills.

Taking these country lanes causes Allura some anxiety at first; she has grown so accustomed to keeping to the narrow tracks and hidden paths that walking out in the open, on a thoroughfare used by any traveller passing through, makes her uneasy. But this part of the Wilds is scarcely populated, and sometimes they walk for hours without seeing anyone. After a while, Allura is able to let go of her fears and instead appreciate these routes for their natural splendour. The lanes pass through deep valleys, where the slopes of young mountains tower impossibly high above them, and Allura gazes up at the hawks that circle above the peaks and the trees clinging to the rocks and finds herself breathless at the beauty of it.

Their increased reliance on the main roads means that they pass through villages more often than they did at the start of their journey. There is often no way of avoiding it: their way runs through the township, or up the steep sides of the mountains that surround it, so the fastest and easiest route ahead is simply to pass through. Sometimes they stop to buy food or to refill their canteens at the village pump; other times, they simply follow the road past the cottages without stopping.

* * *

It is in one of these towns that they run into the Galra again.

They are three days out from the Holt farm when they come to a village - and by simple coincidence, they arrive on the day when a small fete is taking place on the village green. This particular settlement has the customary stone circle and paved roundel, but here it stands in the centre of a field just inside the town boundary. A group of musicians sit under a pavilion near the circle, playing some simple country dances on drums and lutes. Several tables of food stand on the edge of the green, and the locals mill around on the grass, talking and laughing or dancing to the music.

The scent of apple pies and spiced tea is too much for Allura to resist. She tugs on Shiro's sleeve.

"Can we stop?" she asks. "Just for a bit."

She gazes out at the people having fun, and the children running and chasing each other between the adults, and longs to be a part of it - even for a few minutes. She looks back at Shiro, and he smiles fondly at her.

"Sure, why not," he says. He looks as tempted as Allura feels, and she pulls him out onto the green and heads towards the food stalls.

They buy apple pies wrapped in golden pastry, and clay mugs of spiced tea, and they sit on a bench on the edge of the green and watch the revelry. To one side of the field, Allura spots a tent with the familiar emblem of the Blessed on the side - a circle containing three stars. She nudges Shiro's arm and points it out to him.

"There's Blessed here," she says. "They must have come through to offer healing for the villagers."

"Probably," Shiro agrees. He looks around at the village, surrounded by the comforting embrace of the hills. "I wonder how often they come through here?"

"Maybe not often," Allura says. "If there's a fete to celebrate the occasion."

They sit and finish their apple pies, and Allura sips the tea appreciatively and watches the locals enjoying themselves. It is refreshing to see Alteans having fun, still living their lives, without the shadow of the Galra looming over them.

But just as the thought occurs to her, a commotion on the road catches her attention. She turns at the same time as many of the villagers, and sees four horses riding up the lane towards the green. Their riders wear the distinctive uniforms of the Galra soldiers, and a covered wagon follows behind them, driven by an Altean guard.

Allura goes rigid with fear, but Shiro's hand closes around her arm and she remembers how to breathe.

"Come on," he whispers in her ear. "Let's just walk out slowly. Don't run."

They stand up and leave their mugs of tea half-finished on the bench, and Shiro leads the way through the crowd towards the other end of the village and the road that will take them out into the hills. Allura follows, her heart hammering in her chest, and she wills herself not to panic, not to look around or flee or scream. She has to stay calm. Focused. They are just two travellers going on their way.

But before they can make much progress, the soldiers rein in their horses in front of the green. The general motion of the crowd brings Shiro to a halt, and Allura risks a glance behind her. The Galra soldiers still sit atop their horses, and the entire town stands facing them curiously. Pushing through the mass of people, at this point, will only draw attention. Shiro turns back to face the soldiers, and as he does he steps in front of Allura to keep her out of sight. She holds tight to his hand and watches the Galra guards.

"No one is to move," the first of them says. He wears a green cloak that marks him out as a captain. "We are here for the Blessed."

Allura's heart drops out of her chest. Fear threatens to overtake her completely - but Shiro squeezes her hand, and she clings to his arm like a lifeline. He takes a small step backwards, and then another, and Allura catches his intention: to inch his way to the back of the crowd and slip out unnoticed.

Allura follows his lead and shuffles backwards with painstaking slowness. Ahead of them, the Galra guards dismount from their horses. A junior officer - a lieutenant, judging by his stripes - pushes the crowd back, whilst the captain unpacks a long, wrapped bundle from the side of his horse.

The crowd murmurs in shock and confusion. The Galra captain ignores them, and unrolls the bundle to reveal an odd-looking device - a short metal wand with a crystal at one end. Allura gasps, and clamps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out. She recognises the device, and the way the crystal glows purple, and the unmistakeable pulse of quintessence. The wand is for detecting the Blessed.

Shiro glances across at her, and his eyes go wide.

"Your face," he whispers.

She knows what he means. She can feel the familiar tingle in her cheeks as her marks begin to glow in response to the wand, and the energy rippling out of the crystal. Even at this distance, she is so powerfully Blessed that her body responds to it. She ducks her head and pulls her hood up, her hands shaking.

Why here? Why now? Why did they stop? They could have carried on and been well on their way by now, but _no_ , she wanted apple pie and tea and now…

"Come on," Shiro murmurs to her. He keeps ahead of her, his arm held across her body, and urges her to keep inching towards the back of the crowd and away from the Galra soldiers.

The captain's actions provide some measure of cover. He strides across the green towards the tent where the Blessed sit offering their healing services, and the two remaining soldiers follow behind him. They disappear inside for a moment, and then the sound of yelling and screaming echoes across the lawn.

Three Blessed emerge from the tent - or rather, they are forcibly ejected from the tent by the soldiers, who shove them onto the grass. The captain stands over them, and holds the wand up near their faces. They are not so powerfully Blessed as Allura herself - but even so, they do not need to be. Not at this proximity. The captain moves down the line, and their marks light up as he passes.

"Put them in the wagon," he says, and the soldiers grab them by the arms and haul them to their feet.

The crowd erupts in protest. They surge forward, towards the green, and the lieutenant turns his spear towards them to hold them back. Someone throws a stone, and it clatters off the captain's helmet. The cries of 'let them go!' threaten to drown out the captain's barked orders.

The commotion serves as a distraction, and Shiro grabs Allura's hand and pulls her towards the back of the crowd. They do not bother to go slow, or try to be subtle. They simply bolt for the road and somewhere to hide.

Allura risks a glance behind her as they push through the people rushing forward. Scuffles have broken out between the villagers and the soldiers - but the soldiers have swords and knives, and the locals are unarmed. The Blessed are already in the back of the wagon, where another soldier shackles their wrists together. As Allura watches, the captain hands over the wand to his lieutenant and instructs the man to search the crowd for more of the Blessed.

A knot of terror forms in Allura's belly. They have to get out of the village before they are discovered, before the lieutenant holds up the wand to her face and sees her marks lit up like crescent moons in a clear night sky. The soldiers have the crowd under control, now; the initial burst of protest having collapsed in the face of edged weaponry. Allura cannot blame any of them. The villagers share fearful looks as the lieutenant pushes through the group, waving the wand at the people around him, closely followed by the two Galra soldiers.

"There," he says, and points at someone in the crowd. A soldier grabs a middle-aged woman, whose cheek marks shimmer blue in the presence of the wand. The people around her scream, and Allura hears sobs from the crowd as the woman is dragged away towards the wagon.

"If you co-operate, you won't be harmed," the captain says to the crowd in general. "None of the Blessed will be harmed, either. This is just a precautionary measure."

Allura does not believe a word of it. Who knows what will happen to them once they are in Lotor's hands? Or Queen Haggar's? But she has no time to think about that now. They have finally reached the edge of the crowd, and Shiro tugs her down the gap between two buildings, out of sight of the soldiers. They follow the alleyway until it turns a corner - and find themselves up against a dead end. The alley ends at a wooden fence and a locked gate. There is no other way out.

Shiro holds a finger to his lips. "Stay quiet," he whispers. "I don't think they saw us."

But their luck has run out. Footsteps sound at the entrance to the alleyway, and voices echo between the buildings.

"Is there someone down there?" - the captain, by the sounds of it. "I thought I heard something. Go and check."

"Yes, sir," - the lieutenant. The one with the wand.

Allura stares around in panic - but there is no way out. And the glow in her marks is too obvious to miss. The Galra soldier will not even need to get close to be able to tell she is Blessed.

Shiro rattles the handle of the gate, but it does not budge, and he turns back to her with fear in his eyes. He understands all too clearly that there is no hiding the brightness of her marks. His hand goes to his sword, and Allura knows he will die before he lets her get taken.

As she scrabbles for a way out without bloodshed, her mind flings up one final, reckless idea. Perhaps because they talked about it at the stone circle. Perhaps because she has considered it on more than one occasion. Or maybe she is just desperate, and it seems crazy enough to work. The lieutenant's footsteps draw closer, and he will turn the corner at any second, and it's now or never.

"I have an idea," she says.

Shiro blinks at her in confusion, but she has no time to explain it. She grabs a handful of his shirt and kisses him.

His whole body goes tense with shock, but she keeps her lips pressed to his and silently wills him to go along with it, to make it look convincing, because for this to work it needs to look _real_ \- it needs to look like two lovers caught in the act - and right now he is too stiff and surprised and it won't work, she misjudged this, she should have explained the plan…

And then he melts into it, and it's like being hit by a wave. His hand fists into her hair; his arm wraps around her waist, below her knapsack, and he pulls her hips flush against his. His lips part for her, and she tastes his tongue in her mouth, hot and sweet, and something ignites inside her. Time seems to stand still, for one breathless moment, and the kiss feels real - absolutely real - even though she knows it's not.

The lieutenant turns the corner, and they break apart. Allura stands there, her body pressed up to Shiro's, and stares at the soldier. She does not have to fake a guilty or fearful expression; nor does she need to pretend to be flustered. Not with Shiro's arms around her, and the taste of him still on her lips.

The soldier looks between the two of them - and Allura holds her breath, waiting for the yell of discovery - but the soldier rolls his eyes instead. He lowers the wand to his side and shakes his head.

"Couldn't you wait until you got to an inn?" he mutters. He turns around, still grumbling under his breath, and retreats down the alleyway.

"Anything?" the Captain's voice calls.

"No sir," the lieutenant calls back. "Just a couple of kids getting lucky."

Allura sags in relief, and she feels Shiro's arm loosen around her waist.

"That was a smart plan," he says, his voice curiously tight.

She looks up at him. His marks are glowing too, just like hers - two white crescents shimmering beneath his eyes. Perhaps there really was something real about it. But there is no time to think about it now; not with Galra soldiers close by. Shiro pulls away and clears his throat, and Allura straightens her clothes and glances around the alley for an escape route.

"Here. Climb over the fence." Shiro beckons her towards the gate at the back of the alley, and Allura crosses to his side. With his help, she scrambles up over the fence and drops down on the other side into a yard full of clutter and crates. Shiro follows her, and they cross the yard and scramble over a stone wall at the other end into another narrow passageway between buildings.

They creep along the alley until they come out at the edge of the village. Shiro holds up his arm, and Allura pauses beside him to peer around the last cottage and figure out the lay of the land. The village is small enough that they can still clearly see the green and the remains of the fete at the far end - and the Galra soldiers, standing to attention around the wagon.

As they watch, the captain bangs on the wagon's curved side and gestures at the driver to get moving. The soldiers mount their horses, and the captain turns to the crowd to address them one last time.

"Rites and Rituals are forbidden," he declares. "Anyone caught performing them will be arrested. Any village that conceals the presence of the Blessed will be punished. By order of Prince Lotor."

Then he turns and rides away after the wagon, followed by the rest of the soldiers. They leave the way they came, and Allura wonders if the wagon is full, now, and they are heading back to whatever base camp they have established in the Wilds. Or perhaps they have been ordered to come this far and no further, and their route takes them towards some other small, unsuspecting village in a different part of the hills.

Whatever the reason, their road north is clear, and Shiro's touch on her arm rouses her from her musings. They slip out of the village and hurry away down the lane.

By unspoken agreement, they leave the main road at the first small path they find. The track leads up the steep slope of the hill, and the way is hard going. At times, they have to climb over rocks, or use the branches of trees to scramble up the steepest parts of the footpath. But it feels safer than being on the main road. They crest the rise and come up over the hill, and the path disappears into a wild meadow where goats graze and bees meander between the flowers. A little way down the slope, they find an ancient stone wall, long abandoned, and sit down to rest and get their breath back.

Allura sips water from her canteen, and gazes down at the valley before them. It looks entirely uninhabited - no tracks, no buildings, no wisps of smoke to give away the presence of fires. They are alone with the goats and the wind.

"We should get as far from the village as possible," Shiro says. "We still have plenty of light left. We can make camp somewhere far from the road."

Allura hums in agreement, but she does not look at him. She gazes out at nothing, her thoughts far away, and guilt crawls into her chest and settles between her bones.

They came for the Blessed - and these are not even the powerfully Blessed, or the highest ranking acolytes trained in Oriande. They are simple village healers, gifted enough to help with fevers and aches and pains. The memory of their fearful faces resurfaces in Allura's mind, and she blinks back tears of rage. The Galra came and took the Blessed, and who knows where they will end up, or how they will be treated. And she fled, again, when her people needed her.

"Allura." Shiro's voice pulls her from her thoughts - and he says her name so softly, it sounds almost like a prayer. She turns to face him, and his eyes are heavy with concern as he looks at her.

"It's my fault," she whispers. "It's my fault they were there."

"No. It's not."

"I performed a Ritual," she goes on. "You told me not to, but I did it anyway, and now they're going around villages rounding up the Blessed. This is my fault."

Tears blur her vision, and Shiro reaches out and takes her hand.

"Allura - stop," he says softly. "They would have done this anyway. This was always Zarkon's plan. It has nothing to do with you."

"Yes it does!" she protests. "These are my people, and I should be there to protect them! And instead I'm hiding and running away. And letting them get taken into whatever prison camp Prince Lotor has planned for them. I should be doing something!"

She clenches her fists as the tears come in earnest. The fury burns inside her, fuelled by the frustration of weeks on the road doing nothing, _hiding_ , skulking around in the shadows and letting the worst of it happen. She aches down to her soul with the pain of inaction - knowing that Altea is hurting, that her people are suffering, and she is powerless to change anything.

"Are you angry?" Shiro asks, and although his voice is quiet she hears the steel heart of the question.

"Of course I'm angry," she says.

"Then be angry at the Galra. Not at yourself."

She looks at his hand covering hers, and the way his knuckles whiten as he grips her fingers. He is angry too, she realises. He carries the same simmering, bitter rage that she does. But he channels it into keeping her safe. She meets his gaze, and sees the fury locked away behind his eyes, driving him onwards.

"You will need that anger," he says quietly. "It will keep you alive, if you let it. But don't turn it against yourself. You have to keep it turned outwards. Remember who did this to us. Remember who is responsible for all this pain. It isn't you."

"But I should be fixing it," she whispers.

"You will," he says. "That's why the Goddess saved you, remember?"

He gives her a tiny smile, and the ache in her soul eases. She had not realised that he took her words to heart, when they talked about it in the glade. But he has always had faith in her, even when she doubted herself.

"You saved me, too," she says.

He opens his mouth, as if he means to say something, but no words come out. She meets his gaze, and the space between them feels breathless and vast.

She kissed him. She kissed him and he returned it, and even though she knows it wasn't real it _felt_ real, and now she desperately wants to do it again. Shiro looks at her like maybe he is thinking about it too - but then he clears his throat and pulls his hand away from hers, and turns away to watch the horizon, and Allura blushes and curses herself for getting carried away.

That is not what he wants from her, clearly. She was right in her assessment that his kindness is just a necessity, and it is clearly not as meaningful as she wants it to be. The kiss was all a pretence on his part. But why then did it feel so real? Why did his marks glow so brightly?

"We should get going," he says. He stands up, and she stows her canteen back in her knapsack and follows him as he sets off down the hill through the long grass.

She watches his back as he walks ahead of her, and she realises she is no closer to solving the puzzle that is Shiro. Sometimes, it feels like there is a depth and meaning in his gaze when he looks at her; sometimes, she lets herself imagine that he is drawn to her the same way she is drawn to him. But then at other times he seems to pull away, as if he wants to keep a distance between them. She cannot figure out the meaning of it, and she does not know how to ask him without appearing foolish or needy or silly. He'd probably just… roll his eyes or something. Brush her off with some comment about his duty, or her royal position, or the need to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted. And then they'll have to walk miles in awkward silence, all because she couldn't keep her mouth shut and keep things professional.

At least now she has a better understanding of her own feelings. That one fevered moment in the alley made everything painfully clear. She wants him, and she wants to be _his_ , and beneath the grief and anger and pain that need burns as bright as fire. She just does not know how to act on it. Maybe one stolen kiss is all she will ever get, and it is pointless to hope for more.

They pass through a patch of wildflowers, and the scent of juniberries carries on the breeze. Shiro reaches down and plucks one of the pink flowers. He turns around and presents it to her, and he wears the same shy expression he wore at the Holt farm, when he gave her the headscarf.

Allura takes the flower from his hand.

"What's this for?" she asks.

"I don't know. Just… something to smile about?"

She meets his gaze, and there is warmth in his eyes, not distance, and she smiles at him. She tucks the juniberry behind her ear as they set off once more down the hillside.

Maybe there is some hope after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look they're both fucking DORKS okay i don't know what to tell you. they are disasters. someone send help.


	10. the scent of pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onwards, up the mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a joke to be made here about mutual pining, isn't there?

After their encounter with the Galra, they spend the next few days avoiding villages and main roads completely. They make their own way through the uncharted wilds; sometimes following the faint remnants of ancient paths, and sometimes following no path at all. They climb steep hills, panting for breath as the air gets cold, and trail tiny streams down into hidden valleys where only birds and bees disturb the silence. Hawks wheel overhead, and at night they hear wolves, sometimes, calling to each other in the dark.

Shiro keeps them heading north-west, as best he can. In that direction, Mr Holt assured them, lies Barrius: the last major town before they reach the Balmeran mountain range. Beyond Barrius the River Zyam runs from west to east, marking the northernmost boundary of the Wilds. The bridge at Barrius will take them across the river and onto the mountain pass - the safest and easiest route across the peaks and thence to Naxum on the other side.

Navigating without the help of the roads proves challenging, and their journey takes longer because of it, but it is safer than risking another run-in with the occupying forces of the Galra. Shiro keeps track of the sun in the sky, and makes notes of the distinctive crests of the hills so that they can stay on the right heading. At night, he leaves Allura sleeping peacefully in whichever cave they have chosen for shelter, and gets up to check the position of the stars, just to make doubly sure they are progressing in the right direction. He sits outside in the open and scratches a compass rose into the earth for the morning, based on the constellations wheeling above him in the ink-black sky. Often he lingers afterwards to watch the stars, and the shape of bats flitting across the moon, and listens to the soft calls of owls in the trees.

These night time interludes are helpful for keeping them on the right heading, but returning to bed afterwards presents Shiro with a test of self-control. Allura still will not sleep without him lying next to her, so their bedrolls are always close together on the ground, but with Allura already asleep Shiro gets to choose exactly how to lie down beside her. Of course, the sensible thing would be to turn his back to her and maintain a respectable distance, but what he actually _wants_ to do is curl into her side and pull her close to him and fall asleep with her in his arms.

He contemplates this dilemma on their first night out from the village where they ran into the Galra soldiers. They make camp in a cave halfway up a rocky hillside, and once Shiro is done stargazing he sits and pokes at the last embers of the fire and glances over at Allura where she lies sleeping.

Nothing can ever happen between them. He knows that it is impossible, and always has been. So it is better for him to keep his distance and not let himself fall too deep into his feelings. And, you know, not to sound self-congratulatory or anything, but… he had been doing pretty well at that. After his conversation with Colleen at the Holt farm, he made more of an effort to keep things formal, and not let everything get too familiar; to guard his heart more closely and not think of Allura too often or too fondly.

And then she kissed him, and it threw him completely off-balance.

He has to keep reminding himself that it wasn't real. It was a smart plan that got them out of a very tight corner, but she didn't mean anything by it. It was just pretend.

But it _felt_ real. In that one bright instant between him throwing all self-restraint out the window and the Galra soldier turning the corner… it felt _real_. And try as he might, he cannot forget it: the warmth of her body as he held her in his arms, the taste of her lips against his, the way she clung to him… The memory of it won't leave him be. She kissed him and he kissed her back, and now she keeps looking at him with this odd expression in her eyes and he can't figure out why, and all the feelings he had very successfully contained have broken loose.

Should he ask her about it? It seems like the kind of thing they should talk about, but he doesn't know how to bring it up. _"You kissed me and it's haunted me ever since, any chance you actually meant it even a little bit?"_ It sounds pathetic, even in his own head.

He sighs and pokes at the fire, and sparks escape from the embers and dance up into the night sky to join the stars. Allura sleeps peacefully behind him, and he listens to the gentle whisper of her breath in the dark.

What is the point of thinking about something that will never happen again? He ought to stop torturing himself over it. They are on the road now, alone and in disguise, and lines might start to blur - but that is simply a function of necessity and circumstances. Shiro jabs at the fire and frowns. The irony of his position is not lost on him: his job is to bring Allura safely out of Altea, but if he succeeds, he will lose her in the process. When they reach Olkar everything will go back to how it was, and she will be the Princess again, and there will be no more sleeping beside her. No more quiet conversations on the hillsides, shoulders brushing as they talk and laugh together. No more stolen kisses in alleyways.

He hears her stir behind him, and he looks around. She sits up slightly and blinks at him, her eyes heavy with sleep.

"Shiro?" she murmurs.

"I'm here," he says. "I'm just coming."

He throws the stick onto the fire and stands up. Allura watches him enter the cave, and as he draws near to her side she lies back down in her bedroll, her head pillowed on her cloak. Shiro looks down at her, and at his own bed, and the decision that confronts him.

Now, see: if he was sensible, and had a better instinct for self-preservation, he would prepare himself for the inescapable end of all this by setting things back on a more formal footing, starting now. He would lie down with his back to her and force himself not to think about her at all. And in the morning he would tell her, very kindly and politely, that the kissing plan was inappropriate, that it crossed a line they should not be blurring, and that he would rather avoid such things in the future. It would be a bare-faced lie, of course, but it would put that distance back between them. And then when they get to Olkar and she leaves him behind in the dust, everything will hurt less.

It's a solid plan that will make everything easier in the long run, with the only slight drawback being his fundamental inability to implement it, because when it comes to Allura every scrap of common sense he's ever possessed abandons him completely. That, and he can't stand the thought of upsetting her.

He lies down on his side facing her and wraps his arm around her waist. As he settles himself beside her, she rolls over onto her back, so that he finds himself gazing down at her from only inches away. The hand that was around her waist now rests lightly on her abdomen, and it is only through a supreme act of self-control that he resists the urge to draw circles on her belly with his thumb.

"What were you doing?" she asks. Her voice is soft with sleep, and her eyes are only half open as she looks up at him.

"I went to check the stars," he whispers. "To make sure we're going in the right direction."

A tiny smile pulls at her lips. "Did you get us lost?"

"No, I didn't," he chuckles.

Her smile grows a little wider, and her eyes flutter closed.

"Good," she murmurs. She rolls over again, and Shiro lies down and tucks his body around hers. She makes a contented humming sound, and he closes his eyes and feels her next to him, warm and comforting.

If he were smart, he wouldn't be doing this. He would keep her at arm's length - literally and metaphorically - and steel himself for the point where she leaves him behind. The chance of her ever returning his feelings is slim. And even if she did, it is impossible for them to be together, beyond whatever brief time they could steal for themselves on the road. But Allura was right when she called him a romantic. He has tried to resist his own feelings, and failed miserably, so he might as well embrace them and accept his fate.

One way or another, he is going to get his heart broken, because this is still forbidden, and she is still the Princess and the Queen-in-waiting, and as soon as they reach Olkar she will rise up and away from him, towards her throne and her destiny, and there will be no more quiet nights spent lying together beneath the stars. So he can either break his own heart now, or let Allura break it for him later, and at least if he delays the inevitable he can enjoy her company for a few more weeks. Let the misery come later. It will hurt either way, and he would rather take what scraps of joy he can now and be content with them, and have something sweet to remember once she is gone.

She sleeps peacefully beside him, and he closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the moment, and how calming and natural it feels to hold her close like this. This is probably how he will remember her, when they are parted, and he has made peace with that, whenever it comes.

* * *

It takes them a few days to reach Barrius, trekking over the hills and finding their own way through the wild valleys. They see few people in their travels, and their company is mostly wild animals. The days are bright and sunny, but as they climb ever higher the temperature drops; they leave the warmth of summer behind in the lowlands, and head north into a constant chill.

As they walk, Shiro finds himself torn between wanting to ask Allura about their kiss in the alleyway, and feeling foolish for even considering it. Allura does not mention it at all, which makes him think she doesn't _want_ to talk about it, except maybe she is waiting for him to bring it up? So then he should mention it to her, shouldn't he? He comes up with ways to address the matter, or ask her what it meant, but it all sounds ridiculous in his head. And she saw his marks light up - she must be able to figure out it was real for him, right? She can put two and two together. So if she's not mentioning it, that must mean she knows it's real and doesn't want to bring it up, so maybe she's upset at him for getting too into it? He should keep his mouth shut and let it go. But she keeps looking at him - he keeps turning to find her staring, and then she looks hastily away. Is she blushing? She can't be blushing. Should he ask her what it means? Should he say nothing?

It's hopeless. Just when he thinks he's decided, one way or the other, he changes his mind.

It doesn't help that they are somehow talking less than they were before the village. Allura sometimes looks like she wants to say something, but thinks better of it and says nothing instead, and Shiro doesn't like to press her on the issue. He tries to come up with neutral topics instead, and when he does, some of the ease returns to their conversation and Allura brightens up and starts talking. He takes this as a sign that she would rather avoid any discussion of the kiss in the alley, so he resolves not to speak of it. Instead, he asks her about flowers - he knows she loves them, and she knows all their names - and he talks idly about silly topics, or tells her stories about Nyhon.

Allura seems to appreciate this, but sometimes when she smiles her eyes are sad; or she looks thoughtful instead of amused, and Shiro is left trying to figure out if he did something wrong. Sometimes when they pause on their journey, it is incredibly tempting to confess everything to her - every secret hidden feeling he is nurturing in his heart - but that seems profoundly unfair on her. What if he says it and she doesn't want to hear it? They are alone in the wilds, and she depends on him for her safety and survival, and they still have a long way to travel before they reach Olkar. It will only make things awkward for her, and she doesn't need that right now. She needs to feel safe and respected.

So he keeps his peace and says nothing. Allura does not mention the fact that she kissed him, or ask him his thoughts on the matter, so that's that. She doesn't want to talk about it. She probably wants to pretend it never happened. It was real for him but not for her and that's all there is to it.

* * *

When they eventually reach Barrius, they camp out for the night on the hills overlooking the town. Shiro's plan is to enter the town first thing in the morning, stock up on supplies, and then head straight out across the bridge and into the mountains. They find a cave on the hillside and light a fire, and sit and watch the lights in the settlement below them.

"It feels like forever since we were in a city," Allura says quietly.

"Barrius isn't really big enough to be a city," Shiro points out.

"But still," she says. "This is the biggest place we've been since Oriande."

"That's true."

"It is safe, isn't it?"

He glances over at her, and sees her gnawing on her bottom lip.

"It's fine," he says. He tries to sound confident and reassuring. "A lot of travellers pass through here, apparently. We won't stand out."

Allura nods absently, but the worry doesn't leave her eyes, and she gazes back down at the lights of Barrius glittering below them. Shiro wonders if this has to do with the village they passed through. The only times they have run into the Galra so far have been in crowded places where people live. The open land of the wilds feels safer by comparison. But they have to pass through Barrius to get over the mountains.

"It will be alright," Shiro says. "We won't stay long. We'll just get what we need and pass through."

Allura gives him a tight smile, and a moment later she rises to climb into her bedroll and sleep. When Shiro follows soon after, she turns to face him and wraps her arm around his waist. He watches her face in the dark as she drifts off to sleep, and wonders if all she wants from him is comfort. He can give her that much, at least. Even if all he ever does is make her laugh and keep up her spirits on the road… it is enough for him.

* * *

The next morning, they rise early and head into Barrius as the first morning sunlight gleams over the hills. The town is already thronged with people, even at this hour: travellers on their way to and from the bridge; traders setting up their stalls; locals occupied in their own business, winding in and out of the crowd. The noise of the crowd rises up like a gentle murmur as Shiro leads the way towards the town circle, Allura following close behind.

On their way, they pass another group of people - their clothes ragged and torn, eyes haunted, clutching small bundles of possessions or nothing at all. With a jolt, Shiro realises they are refugees. Judging by Allura's pained expression, she knows it, too.

The group sits on the ground by the sheriff's office, and a few deputies move through the lines checking up on everyone and taking down their names for a huge, leather-bond ledger. Shiro tries not to stare at them as they pass. To see refugees so far north - so far from Oriande - is a worrying sight. They must be locals from the Wilds - perhaps Blessed, fleeing from Queen Haggar; or simply villagers who saw the march of the Galra soldiers coming down the lane and ran north in sheer terror.

It will be far worse than this near Oriande. Far worse. Shiro frowns and looks away, and he tugs at Allura's hand to urge her to keep moving.

"We should do something," she whispers.

"We can't," he says simply. "We're just like them, remember?"

Her face falls, and he can tell this is the first time she has really thought of herself as a refugee.

They reach the town circle, and find the main shops and stalls open for business. Many of the traders sell travelling gear; this town sees so many wayfarers passing through that much of the local economy seems to revolve around catering to their needs. Shiro and Allura stop at a stall to buy hard rations and larger canteens for the mountain pass, and Shiro bundles them up into their knapsacks. Many stretches on the mountain road are barren and inhospitable - foraging for food will be nearly impossible, and they will have to rely on the rations they bring with them.

Before they leave, he heads to a blacksmith to have his sword checked and sharpened. There is a whetstone in the soldiers' pack, of course, but the smithy work is likely to be superior. The blacksmith is a sturdy-looking dwarf with a huge black beard, and Shiro sits and waits while he works, enjoying the heat of the forge. Allura loiters in the doorway and watches the crowd.

"You'll need this, up in the mountains," the blacksmith tells Shiro as he sets to work.

"Why's that?"

"There's bandits on the path," the dwarf says simply. "You wanna watch out for them."

"We will. Thank you."

"Does your wife know how to shoot with that?"

He points at Allura in the doorway, and the bow slung over her back. Shiro lets the assumption about their relationship stand unchallenged.

"She's a better shot than I am," he says. "If we run into bandits, she'll probably be the one saving me, not the other way around."

The comment earns him a wry chuckle from the blacksmith, and a slight frown from Allura. He gets up to stand with her in the doorway whilst the blacksmith finishes with his sword.

"Why did you tell him that?" Allura whispers.

Shiro puts a hand on her waist and leans over to speak close to her ear - like a husband having a private discussion with his wife, nothing more.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" he murmurs.

"Are we really going to run into bandits?" Allura asks.

Ah. So that's the source of her worry.

"I hope not," he says, truthfully enough. "We'll be careful, don't worry."

Allura nods absently, and turns back to watch the busy town centre. Shiro senses the tension in her body; she is uncomfortable in such a large crowd. After so many weeks spent in isolation, the bustle of Barrius must feel overwhelming. He looks for a way to distract her.

"We should sell the blacksmith some of your jewellery," he murmurs close to her ear.

She turns to face him. "Why? Do we need money?"

"We will after this. We're almost out of coins, and we'll need a toll for the bridge. Plus, when we get to Naxum we'll need money for the boat fare."

Allura glances back around at the crowded marketspace.

"Why here?" she asks. "Isn't it risky?"

"It's safer than most places," Shiro says. "Busy town, lots of travellers, people always passing through… We can sell it, no questions asked."

Allura appears to consider this, and her eyes search his face before she nods. She roots around in her pack for the precious bundle of necklaces and rings and bangles, and hands Shiro some of the plainer pieces. Nothing too fancy or distinctive - nothing that will raise suspicion. Shiro turns back to the blacksmith, and shows him the gold items.

"How much can you give us for these?" he asks.

The dwarf looks from the jewellery to both of their faces in turn.

"That depends," he says carefully. "Where's it from?"

"We found an abandoned carriage on the road," Allura says. "One of the wheels was broken. We didn't know what happened to the people inside, but we managed to scavenge a few items from the luggage."

The dwarf nods. "That's fair. Well, let me have a look at it."

They haggle over prices, but Shiro is keen to get going and doesn't push the issue. At any rate, the blacksmith seems happy enough to take the jewellery off their hands, and they leave the workshop with Shiro's sword freshly sharpened and a full coin-purse for the first time in weeks.

With their purchases complete, they set out towards the bridge and the mountain pass. Allura still looks pensive, but she begins to relax and cheer up as soon as they clear the town boundary and get out onto the open road. Shiro keeps an eye on her as they progress, and sticks close beside her on the track.

The road itself is busier than any they have yet travelled. Caravans rumble past, led by men and women on horses keeping a watchful eye on their wagons. People walk by in groups - sometimes only two or three together, sometimes twenty or more in lines, following dwarf guides in distinctive red helmets. They dodge past donkey carts and ponies, loaded with various wares. Young boys roam up and down the highway, carrying baskets of fruits and nuts and snacks which they sell for pennies to the travellers marching by.

Allura watches the busyness with wary eyes, but to Shiro the crowds are a welcome relief. Their passage will barely raise an eyebrow amidst all the noise and bustle; they are just two more faces amongst many, unremarkable and anonymous. He tells Allura this, but she doesn't seem convinced.

"Any one of them could recognise us," she points out.

"But we're in disguise, remember?"

She gives him a flat look loaded with disapproval. " _I'm_ in disguise," she says testily. "You've just grown a beard."

"Yes, but… it's a good beard, isn't it?" He grins at her, and she rolls her eyes at him - but she looks amused rather than worried, and that's all he cares about.

"That's not the point," she says.

"So you admit it's a good beard."

"What does it matter what I think of it?" she asks. She looks up at him, and even though her tone is light there's that look in her eyes again. And so Shiro foregoes a witty response for the truth.

"I value your opinion," he says simply. "Is it a good beard or not?"

She smiles, and it looks almost shy.

"It's nice," she says. "I like it."

His grin widens, and even though he knows it's foolish, he lets her words settle in his heart.

"I guess I have to keep it, then," he says.

Allura chuckles beside him.

"Would it be a terrible abuse of my royal powers if I forbid you from cutting it off?"

"Probably," he says. "But I don't mind."

She looks to the ground and hides a smile, but her gaze keeps straying back to him as they walk. He wants to tell her he would do anything to make her happy; but he still does not know quite where they stand, or if that is something she wants to hear, and so the words fade from his tongue before he can find the courage to voice them.

* * *

The Barrius Bridge stands less than a mile outside the town boundary, and Shiro keeps close to Allura's side as they follow the crowds on the road towards the tollgate. The highway winds between two towering hills, their sides scrubby and barren, until they come out at the bridge.

As they round the last bend, Shiro suddenly appreciates why the Barrius Bridge is such a vital crossing-point at the edge of the Wilds. The land before them falls away suddenly, dropping precipitously into a ravine far below, where the River Zyam runs fast and wild across the rocks. The sound of water rapids echoes from the cliff faces as the crowd fans out into the open ground in front of the bridge.

The Bridge itself is carved from white stone that arches impossibly over the canyon. In the morning sunlight, the faint shapes of alchemy symbols catch the light - an indicator of how much protective magic must have been woven into the structure to help it survive the rigours of the wilds. But Shiro also spots dwarven runes carved into the two huge pillars that stand like a gateway at the entrance to the bridge.

"We're crossing into Balmera Province," Allura tells him, when he points this out. "This region is governed by the dwarf tribes. They are experts at building mountain structures."

It is no surprise, then, that when they reach the front of the line they pay their toll to two dwarf deputies standing beside the gateway. Shiro hands over the coins, and Allura follows him out onto the paved walkway of the Bridge.

The filter of the tollgate means that the crowd thins out somewhat on the Bridge itself, and the distinction between locals and tourists quickly becomes clear. Those who live and work nearby hurry across the bridge with barely a second glance at the landscape, but for those seeing it for the first time, the view is breath-taking.

Shiro slows to a standstill, Allura beside him, as they near the centre of the crossing. Far below them, the river churns over stones and throws up sprays of water that glint in the sunlight. Hardy trees cling to the sides of the canyon, straining up towards the sun. Behind them, the rolling hills and peaks of the Northern Wilds shimmer green; ahead of them, the first slopes of the Balmeran mountain range march upwards towards the sky, covered in a blanket of evergreen trees. Shiro looks down the length of the ravine, at the cliffs jutting out from each side, and spots birds nesting on outcrops of rock.

"This is beautiful," Allura breathes beside him.

"It really is," he agrees.

It is tempting to linger and drink in the view, but they have already lost enough time in town, and they need to make good progress before nightfall. They drag themselves away from the sights and head onwards, over the Bridge and into the foothills of the mountains on the other side.

* * *

They walk for most of the day, and the crowd spreads out as the road winds further into the mountains. The main road is paved and clear, but the paths that branch off it are little more than dirt tracks. They lead to villages, perched precariously on the mountain sides; or the entrances to caves, carved with elaborate dwarven runes. This is dwarf territory, and many of the larger dwarf settlements are still under the mountains, housed in complexes of caverns that delve deep into the rock.

On either side of the road, ancient pine forests stand guard on the slopes. Little underbrush grows here, and the space between the trees is mostly bare and strewn with pine needles and hardy shrubs. The trees tower high above the path, and ravens caw in the uppermost branches as they pass.

The climb is steep, and Shiro is initially worried that Allura will struggle with it after her illness, but she makes steady progress and does not complain. The road doubles back on itself time and again as it twists past the spurs of the mountains, and every now and then a break in the trees lets them look back on their progress. The ravine cuts through the land below them; the rolling green hills of the Northern Wilds crowd the horizon. Ahead of them, their path leads ever upwards towards the gap between two sharp peaks, their heights covered in snow even this close to summer.

The road itself seems to function on its own unique social system. A line of red paving stones bisects the road into two distinct lanes, separating the traffic going up the mountain from the flow of people coming down. Faster vehicles travel close to the centre of the road - horses and swift carts, for the most part - whilst slower travellers stick to the outskirts. Shiro and Allura walk with the rest of the pedestrians on the edge of the road, watching the wagons trundle past them as the ponies labour up the steep slope.

The sheer number of travellers opens up all sorts of opportunities for business, and so the road also plays host to enterprising locals who make their living from the people who pass by. The boys selling snacks and hot pastries roam everywhere, calling out their wares to the crowds, and at least once a mile they pass a _chaiwala_ selling hot spiced tea from a cart. At every well or spring by the roadside, villagers stand ready to pump water or fill canteens in exchange for a few pennies. As they pass, Shiro points out to Allura the various booths and stalls set up along the way: cobblers fixing broken boots; vendors selling everything from food to socks to bedrolls; tailors mending clothing for travellers as they wait. They even pass a farrier's forge, set back a little way from the road, with a packed earth yard to the front where several horses wait to be re-shoed.

The vibrant economy of the road initially entertains Allura, and she gazes at everything with interest when Shiro points things out to her. But as the day wears on, she grows more uneasy with it. The crowds bother her; the fear of being recognised lingers behind her eyes. They try to avoid large groups of people as much as possible, but there is no escaping the busy caravans that roll past, or the groups of travellers being led up the mountain by local guides. They felt safer when they were travelling in solitude; it is hard to get used to being around so many people after such a long time alone.

Allura's anxiety grows worse as the sun dips towards the western horizon, and they begin to think about where they will camp for the night. They turn a corner in the road and find themselves faced with a clearing in the trees, and a busy campsite set back a few paces from the road.

"This must be where everyone rests for the night," Shiro says. "It's about a day's journey up the mountain."

Indeed, the site has the look of a routine resting stop for the caravans that roll through the pass. Wagons stand parked in rows, and several dwarves in sheriff's uniforms direct the flow of people towards designated areas for setting up tents and cooking fires. A low building stands under the trees, and the bustle of people in and out suggests that it provides amenities and assistance to travellers. To one side there is a row of pre-built shelters, and a sign indicating that a spot can be rented for the night for a modest fee.

As Shiro takes in the layout of the campsite, he feels Allura's fingers catch on his sleeve. He looks across to find her huddled up to his side and frowning at the campsite.

"We shouldn't stay here," she says.

"You don't like it?"

"Too many people."

Shiro glances back down the road, at the steady stream of wayfarers heading towards the gates of the clearing. The dwarves who run the site seem professional, well-organised - and extremely busy. The field is currently half-full, but with the warmth already fading from the day and the sun hanging low above the hills, Shiro has no doubt that the site will fill up by nightfall. The road continues on ahead, winding further into the trees and on up the mountainside.

"This might be the only place to camp for the night," Shiro points out.

"We saw plenty of caves on our way up," Allura says. "We can just find a quiet cave somewhere away from all these people."

Shiro watches the road for a moment. Although many people turn off into the campsite, there are plenty of travellers who press on and ignore the busy gateway and the chatter of people around the fires. So there must be other places to find shelter.

"Are you sure you want to keep going?" Shiro asks. The crowds of people might provide some anonymity, and they could sleep in relative comfort in one of the rented shelters.

But Allura nods, decisively.

"This is the kind of place the Galra would come to," she whispers. "If they're still looking for the Blessed. Look at this place. Refugees, lots of travellers… they would come here looking for people running away."

Shiro has to admit that she makes a good point. He can picture it all too clearly: the Galra riding in suddenly, late in the evening, and some guard holding up another wand and searching out the Blessed, or handing out wanted posters with Allura's face plastered all over them… She's right. The lure of the campfires is difficult to resist - but the site is a dangerous place for them to stay.

"Alright," Shiro says. "Let's keep going."

They turn their backs on the campsite and continue up the slope of the mountain, and as the light fades from the sky they scan the slopes for the mouths of caves. Another hour of walking brings them to a secluded area where spurs of rock line the road on one side, and a slope leads up towards a cliff face on the other. Far above, Shiro notes patches of blackness against the stone: natural caves in the rock.

"There," he says, pointing up the slope. "Let's head up before it gets too dark."

Allura nods absently. She keeps scanning the road, her eyes darting backwards and forwards, and Shiro frowns.

"What's the matter?"

"Something doesn't feel right," she says. "We should get out of the open."

It is enough to set Shiro's nerves on edge. He nods, and takes her hand, and they set off up the slope.

They make it only a few yards before a sound behind them sends a chill down Shiro's spine. Every battlefield survival instinct that has ever kept him alive kicks in, all at once, and he is suddenly tense and alert. He pauses on the hillside and holds up a hand, and Allura falls silent beside him. Below them, in the gloom, he hears the sounds of footsteps crunching lightly on pine needles, and the scrape of weapons.

Bandits. The blacksmith said there were bandits in the mountains.

Shiro turns around swiftly enough to see a figure dart behind a tree. In the dim light and lengthening shadows of evening, he cannot make out more than the vague shape of one - maybe two - people, lurking out of sight.

High ground. They need high ground, and a defensible position. He turns around and grabs Allura's hand.

"Run," he says, and he pulls her with him up the mountain.

She obeys, without question - either because she trusts him implicitly, or because she senses the danger and does not need the encouragement to escape it. Bandits will see them as easy targets - two people, travelling alone, no guide or caravan for protection - and fear twists in Shiro's gut as he tries not to imagine what will happen if the thieves catch up to them.

They labour up the slope as fast as possible, gasping for breath, and the loose earth shifts beneath their feet. Shiro helps Allura, as much as he can, and his ears strain every second for the sound of pursuit.

He hears it, just as they come out onto a relatively flat patch of land where huge rocks cut up through the earth. Ahead of them, the slope continues, and a rough path will take them on to the cave mouths ahead. But when Shiro looks behind, he sees four shapes moving in the gloom. The last of the day's sunlight catches on the edge of blades, and he has no doubt of their intentions. He has to keep Allura safe. After everything they've been through, he can't let her fall to outlaws on a lonely mountain road.

He pushes her towards the path that leads on up the mountain.

"Go! Run!" he says. "Don't stop for anything!"

And she does so. Her breath sounds ragged in her throat, but she does not scream or cry out - she simply keeps going, staggering onwards as best she can. He follows her for a few paces before he drops back silently, and watches her retreating back as she sprints up the path.

The plan is still the plan. His duty is to keep her safe; to stay and fight, and buy her the chance the escape.

He turns around, and takes the few paces back to the clearing between the rocks. The terrain here offers him the best opportunity to mount a defence: flat, unobstructed, with a rock he can set his back to if it comes to it. He counts four figures - and four against one is going to be ugly, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that Allura is on her way to safety, and he will stand here and kill or injure anyone who tries to go after her.

He drops his pack to the ground and kicks it to the foot of the rock. Then he draws his sword and waits, heart pounding, his breath the only sound in the gathering darkness.

The bandits emerge from the trees and circle him warily, and Shiro gets the largest rock behind him and eyes them in the gloom. One - tall, lanky, holding a sword. Two - stocky, bearded, a club in his hands. Three - another swordsman, shorter than the first. Four - wiry and mean-looking, armed with two knives.

He might die, then. Depending on how good they are. But then again… he's beaten worse odds. Time to find out what the Goddess has planned for him.

They watch him, weapons drawn, and Shiro braces for the first charge.

Club Guy attacks first, and Shiro vaguely registers the other thieves telling him to wait before the man is on him. But he's clumsy and slow, and Shiro dodges the club easily enough and slits the man's throat. His companions all yell in shock and anger, and Shiro has no time to stop and think about the body slumping to the floor or the blood on his blade. Tall Swordsman takes a swing at him; he parries and kicks out, and the man buckles as his knee gives out. Shiro whirls around and meets the blade of Short Swordsman; blocks again, dodges, gets in a blow of his own that rakes down the bandit's side. He turns again, heart hammering, and registers Tall Swordsman trying to get back to his feet, but Knife Guy is in front of him and he needs to deal with that first.

An arm closes around his neck, yanking him to a halt. In the frantic blur of his mind he tries to figure out which one it is and who he didn't account for, but both swordsmen are still down and Club Guy is dead and Knife Guy is in front of him…

Five. It's one against _five_. The fifth member of the crew must have stayed hidden between the trees, in the growing darkness. Shiro struggles against the man holding him, but the arm around his neck makes it hard to breathe, and as he tries to break the hold Knife Guy takes his opportunity to step up and drive his blade into Shiro's abdomen.

Pain bursts into life below his ribcage, and he grunts as the man pulls out his knife and stabs him again. Which is uncalled for, really, I mean once was probably enough… He scrabbles at the arm around his neck and tries to breathe, but his body suddenly won't move like he wants it to. His legs give out, which is pretty disappointing, because he was standing on those, and as the arm around his neck loosens he slumps to his knees on the ground.

Ugly faces loom over him, and he tries to stand up but instead just falls backwards. He clutches a hand to his side and feels blood beneath his fingers, soaking all the way through his shirt.

He probably will die, at this rate. Agony paints spots in front of his vision, and he can't seem to convince any of his limbs to move, and… yeah. That might be it, then. But he needs to make sure Allura escaped, which means he needs to force himself to get up. He can't die just yet. Not until he knows she's safe.

"Where did the other one go?" Tall Swordsman asks.

"Up the mountain," Knife Guy says. "What do you want to do with this one? Let him bleed out?"

Shiro ignores them. He bends all his will to getting upright, but just as he heaves himself onto his side and gets an arm under him, Knife Guy kicks him hard in the ribs.

He yells out and doubles over in pain, and his vision blurs at the edges as agony rips through him. Knife Guy pushes him over onto his back and crouches down beside him.

"We're going to find your little friend," he says, and his voice is chillingly calm. "And then we're going to have all sorts of--"

He doesn't finish, because an arrow embeds itself into his throat. His face freezes in shock and he topples over. Another arrow thuds into someone else, somewhere else, and from deep within the haze of pain and blood loss Shiro tries to figure out who is firing the arrows and where they're coming from and who is being hit.

He hears a yell and a curse, and retreating footsteps; another thud and another scream, and he turns his head just far enough to see Short Swordsman go down and stay down, and Tall Swordsman limping towards the edge of the clearing with the help of the fifth member of the crew.

Another wave of pain washes over him, and Shiro closes his eyes and groans. Someone drops to the ground beside him, and then two gentle hands grasp his jaw.

"Shiro?"

His eyes flutter open. Allura stares down at him, her expression steely and determined even as her eyes brim with tears. His first thought is that she should not be here - she should be gone, away, up the mountain and safe, not here beside him.

"Why did you come back?" he mumbles, but his brain is so addled with pain and blood loss that the words come out in Hon-sun, and she doesn't understand them.

"Keep still," she whispers. "Don't move."

She tugs up his shirt, and her fingers shake as she presses them to Shiro's side. He flinches as she explores the wound, and then she places both her palms on his skin and closes her eyes.

His vision blurs as he watches her, and agony grips his entire body. A white glow builds around her hands, and then he feels it - the first pulse of quintessence as she channels it into his body, and then another, and another. Magic ripples through him, and he cries out in pain as the skin beneath her hands binds together and heals over. Quintessence builds and builds, and the glow increases until the whole world seems to be nothing but blinding white - and then it fades, and the pain fades with it.

Shiro takes deep breaths and tries to get his bearings. He is still lying in the clearing. He's no longer bleeding to death, which is a bonus. The last of the daylight drains out of the sky, and the first few stars of the night wink down at him. He is distantly aware of the sounds of yelling, and retreating footsteps, and with a sudden surge of anxiety he realises that the bandits might have seen the white glow of Allura's alchemy as she healed him. He turns his head enough to see Allura staring at him, her hands still resting on his skin.

"Can you get up?" she asks, her voice shaking. "We should get out of here. There's caves up ahead."

He nods, and rolls over onto his side. But the movement sends a spear of agony through his body, and he swears through gritted teeth.

"Easy, easy," Allura says. She slings his arm around her shoulders and helps him stand up, but every small move causes another burst of pain and sends spots dancing in front of Shiro's vision. He staggers a few steps, with Allura's help, and she bends to retrieve his sword and slide it back into the scabbard at his waist. She picks up his rucksack, too, and slings it over her own shoulder.

"Come on," she says gently. "It's not far."

They find the path, and Shiro has to lean on Allura as they take the climb one step at a time. She makes no complaint about his weight, or the inconvenience, but he still cannot get past the fact that she came back for him instead of running.

"Why did you come back?" he asks her.

"You fell behind," she says. "I wasn't about to leave you."

"But that's the plan," he grinds out between the latest bout of pain. For some reason, this seems like a very important detail to make clear. "I buy you time to run. You're supposed to go on without me."

"That's for the Galra, not for bandits," she says, and there's an edge to her voice that he definitely should pay more attention to, but the wound in his side is throbbing in a way that makes it hard to think straight.

"That's for everything," he says. "You shouldn't have come back for me."

"You would have died if I hadn't," she snaps, and _oh yeah_ , something's up, but he can't quite place it. Maybe if he hadn't bled quite so much…

"That doesn't matter," he says.

"It matters to me."

"Well it shouldn't!" He regrets his tone immediately, but he is aching and sore and panicked and she is not supposed to come running back for him, risking her life in the process, and fear for her safety makes him snappish.

They stagger to a halt, halfway up the path, and Allura glares at him.

"Why can't you matter to me?" she demands. "Why are you so stubborn about this?"

"Because it's my job to--"

"I don't care about your stupid job!" she cuts him off. "I saved your life and all you want to do is scold me!"

"I'm not--"

"I hate you!" she yells, and the words cut deeper than any knife. "You are such an ungrateful _pig_!"

She drops his arm from her shoulders and storms off up the path, leaving Shiro to wonder how he got this so spectacularly wrong.

"Wait…" he mumbles. He tries to follow after her, but another wave of pain sends him sagging to his knees on the dirt. The world spins around him, and he clutches his side and waits for the pain to pass. Allura's feet come into view in his vision, and he looks up to find her standing over him, her expression a mask of fury and hurt. She takes his arm around her shoulders once more and helps him up.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have--"

"Don't talk to me," she snaps.

He lapses into silence, and lets her half-carry him up the hill towards the cliff face and the row of caves. She says nothing. Her face remains locked in an angry scowl, but she scrubs tears from her eyes as they climb higher, and Shiro's heart sinks. He upset her, and he's in too much pain to figure out how to fix it.

They reach the cliffs, and Allura finds a cave beside a narrow waterfall that trickles over the rocks and into a shallow pool. The cavemouth looms like an archway above them as they step inside, and Shiro collapses gratefully to the floor, his back against a flat stone. Allura drops his pack next to him without even looking at him, and turns and storms out of the cave in a cloud of anger.

He curses out loud in the gloom. His side aches, and every move is agony despite Allura's healing touch. He pulls his pack towards him and scrabbles around inside until he finds the little vials that contain medicine. One of them - a green powder - is supposed to relieve pain. He tips a little onto his finger and places it on his tongue, and after a moment the agony in his body subsides to a dull ache. Now if he can just find some way to fix everything else… He tries to move, to get up and go after Allura, but the combination of pain and exhaustion and blood loss chooses that moment to gang up on him in earnest, and he slumps back against the rock and blacks out.

* * *

He wakes up to Allura shaking him, and groans. He catches the flash of concern in her eyes, but as he blinks owlishly at her the scowl returns to her face.

"You passed out," she says shortly. "Drink this."

She shoves a canteen into his hand and then marches off to the front of the cave. Shiro sips the water, and tries to shake some of the fog from his head. The cavern where they are sheltering has a high ceiling, and the floor is strewn with crystals that grow from the rock walls. As he glances around, Shiro notices that despite her obvious anger, Allura still laid out his bedroll next to him. Towards the mouth of the cave, he spots her seated on a fallen rock beside a fire, staring absently at the flames. A few runes glow white on the cave walls - more alchemy, he realises; protective spells to keep them safe. Outside, the sky is dark, and a thin crescent moon hangs near the horizon. He wonders how long he slept - long enough for Allura to set up their camp, at least.

He watches the back of her head, and the hunch of her shoulders silhouetted against the firelight. Now that the pain has subsided, he has the opportunity to mentally replay their conversation from earlier. The exercise does not cast him in a favourable light, and he groans.

He really is an idiot sometimes.

He gets up and limps over to her, and if she hears him coming she gives no sign of it. Her eyes remain fixed on the fire even as he sits down next to her. She looks like she has been crying.

"Allura," he says softly. "I'm sorry."

She says nothing, but her lips twist and a tear spills down her cheek.

"You were right," he goes on. "I was ungrateful."

That earns him a brief glance, so he presses on.

"I'm sorry I got cross with you. You saved my life. I should have just thanked you."

"Then why didn't you?"

The question burns through him like a match through paper. Allura looks at him, and behind her scowl he senses the hurt in her eyes and her tone.

"I just… I panicked when I saw you," he says.

"Are you trying to die, is that it?"

"What? No! Of course not."

"Then what?"

He can't take the anguish in her voice, and so he opts for the truth as his only way to ease her pain.

"When I saw you come back, I thought I had failed," he says. "I'm supposed to keep you safe. If you died trying to protect me, I'd never forgive myself."

"And how do you think I would feel?" she asks. "Do you think I wouldn't feel guilty for running off and leaving you to die?"

"Come on, Allura, you know that's different."

"Don't say it's your job," she warns him. "Don't say it."

"But it's true," he says. "You are the Princess. You're the one who can save Altea. I'm just a guard. It's my duty to protect you."

This is the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Allura bursts into tears. Shiro reaches for her hand - reaches for some way to comfort her, to understand exactly how he hurt her without even meaning to - but she snatches her hand away from him and wraps her arms around herself.

"Allura, please," he begs. "What's the matter? What did I say?"

"I came back because I care about you," she sobs. "And you don't care about me."

The words land like a physical blow. How can she possibly believe that, after everything? But she looks up at him through her tears, and he reads the anxiety in her eyes, and… she really thinks that. Or she fears that it's the case.

He wants to kiss her. He wants to pull her into his arms and kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until she understands just how much she means to him; just how much and how deeply he cares. But beneath the tears she's still simmering with anger, and he needs to solve this with words.

"You know that's not true," he says.

"I don't know anything!" she wails. She stands up and moves away from him, and Shiro follows, grimacing in pain, but when he reaches her side she shrugs away from his touch and he hangs back and lets her speak.

"It's not me you care about," she says. "You care about the Princess. You care about the crown. And the kingdom, and your duty. That's what matters to you. But you don't care about _me_."

The words pour out of her, and as Shiro takes in what she's saying it occurs to him that he shouldn't correct her. The sensible option would be to let her carry on believing it. It will make everything simpler in the long run. He should hang his head and lie and tell her she's right, and that all of this is just a duty for him; and then they can go back to being a Princess and her loyal Guard, and when they get to Olkar the inevitable separation will be easier on both of them. Nothing messy; no lingering doubts or what-ifs. He can end everything, right here and now, just by saying nothing.

But he can't do it. He looks at her face - at the tears, at the anguish that twists behind her eyes - and he can't do that to her. Because he understands, with a sudden powerful clarity, that she _wants_ him to care; she wants to hear that she matters to him beyond simply a task to be completed and a promise to be kept. And if that's the case, then even the Goddess Herself could not convince him to pretend that she means nothing to him.

 If he had the courage to be completely honest, he would tell her that at some point he started falling in love with her, and now he doesn't know how to stop even if he wanted to. But he can't quite say that. Not yet. He needs other words and other ways.

"Of course I care about you," he says to her. "Don't ever think that I don't."

"Because you have to," she says. "This is all just an obligation to you."

"No. It's not." He steps forward and cups her face in his hands; and this time she does not flinch away from him. "You have to believe me. I promise - I _swear_ \- it's _you_ that I care about. Not the crown or the kingdom or any of the rest of it. I am doing this for you. Just you."

He wipes her tears with his thumbs, and her expression softens as she gazes up at him. He doesn't know how to make her believe it, but he has to try.

"But you always say it's your duty," she whispers. Her hands settle on his elbows - a light, hesitant touch - and he takes another half step towards her.

"It's not," he says. "I promise. Maybe it started out like that, but… this isn't about duty anymore. It hasn't been for a really long time."

The question still hangs in her eyes - as if she is caught halfway between hesitancy to believe him, and hope that everything he's saying is true.

"You mean that?" she asks.

"Yes. I promise," he says. "Even if you weren't a princess, I would still be ready to die for you."

She frowns. "You know I don't want you to die."

"Well… I'm trying really hard not to," he says.

She gives him a tiny, hesitant smile. The doubt fades from her eyes, but the cloud of sadness still hangs over her.

"I'm sorry I upset you," Shiro says.

"It's not that," she whispers.

"Then what?"

"I've never killed anyone before."

The clearing. The bandits. She has hunted with her family, but… that was the first time she took another human life. And she did it for him, to save him… and then he threw it back in her face and told her off for it.

"Come here," he says softly. He pulls her gently into a hug as the tears spill from her eyes. She does not resist. Her hands wrap around his waist, and he winches slightly as she presses against his injury, but he doesn't let her see it. He cradles her against his body and tucks his head into her neck and lets her cry onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "You know it's us or them, right? You did what you had to."

"I know," she says, her voice small and lost.

He runs a hand up her back until he finds the slender column of her neck and feels the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. He desperately wants her to stop crying, but this is a pain that needs to come out. He wonders how much of her anger was fuelled by fear and shock, and how much worse he made it with his graceless behaviour.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she sniffles.

"You don't have to be sorry about that."

"I don't hate you," she whispers, and her words are more healing than any magical touch.

"I don't think I could live with myself if you did," he tells her.

"It's just that… when I realised you weren't with me, I was so scared," she says.

He holds her closer, instinctively, and the knowledge that he frightened her so badly weighs on his very soul.

"I'm so sorry, _marksglow_ ," he whispers. The term of endearment slips out before he can stop it - but it's true, isn't it? She made his marks glow like no one ever has. Maybe it's the blood loss, but he suddenly doesn't care if she hears it. He doesn't care if he gives himself away.

She lifts her head to look at him, and he wipes away her tears once again. His hand comes to rest on her jawline, and he brushes her cheek with his thumb and watches her watching him.

Maybe he will kiss her. He could just lean down and close the distance between them, and she's looking at him like maybe she wants him to. She is so close, and her lips are just _there_ , and he could kiss her right now - and then there would be no more doubt over just how much he cares for her.

But just as he's thinking it, another wave of pain grips him; and this time, there's no hiding it from Allura. He grimaces and doubles over, and her eyes go wide with concern.

"Shiro?" she says. She tuts at him. "You should really be resting. Come on."

He wants to protest, but the medicine seems to have worn off and the agony in his side persists.

"I'm fine," he mutters, but she doesn't believe a word of it, and she looks worried as she helps him limp back to his bedroll and sit down. She hands him the vial of green medicine, and he takes it gratefully and puts another dab of powder on his tongue.

"You should change," Allura says. "Your shirt is ruined."

She roots through his knapsack and pulls out his old tunic. He realises, belatedly, that when Mrs Holt washed it alongside the rest of their laundry, she also re-hemmed it. It's shorter now, but it will do better than the bloody tatters of his shirt. Allura helps him tug it off over his head, along with his vest, and then she runs her fingers over the patch of fresh skin on his side where the wound used to be.

"Hang on," she says. "I'll get some water."

She gets up and brings over the full canteen. She rips off a clean patch of his shirtsleeve and pours some of the water over it, and uses it to wipe the dried blood away from his side. Shiro watches her work - and he feels like he should stop her, but the way she touches him so gently makes his skin tingle and his heart flutter. He's so drowsy and slow with the after-effects of his injury that he doesn't know how to resist her attentions any more. When she is finished, Allura helps him pull his arms into the sleeves of the tunic, and tugs it over his head.

"Lie down," she says, and he obeys without question. She lifts the tunic and lays her hands on him again, and the bright light of her healing power momentarily floods the cave. It doesn't hurt as much as the first time, but Shiro still groans and winces.

"Sorry," Allura says, as the glow fades from her hands and the pain subsides.

Shiro shakes his head. "It's fine. Is it supposed to hurt this much?"

"The spell accelerates the body's natural healing process," Allura says. She looks almost apologetic. "Unfortunately, that also intensifies the pain of the healing process as well. You're getting several days' worth of healing pain all at once."

Shiro closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the ripples of discomfort in his body.

"It's probably what I deserve," he mutters, but Allura hears him.

"Don't say that," she tells him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at her. The combination of fatigue and the medicine makes him drowsy, so when Allura reaches out to brush the hair from his forehead, he leans into the touch of her hand instinctively.

"Are you still angry at me?" he asks.

She kneels beside him with her hand on his cheek, and smiles softly at him.

"No, I'm not," she says. "You should try and sleep."

He nods. She's right. But when she gets up to tend to the fire, he remains awake, despite the tiredness that hangs heavy on his limbs. Eventually, she finishes tidying up the camp and banking the fire and comes to lie down beside him, tucked up close to his side. He feels the warmth of her body next to his, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, and only then does he drift off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like so many of these chapters end with someone falling asleep lol i'm sorry that's just this story's Signature Brand.
> 
> thanks for all the comments on the last chapter - i've been pretty bad at replying to them because irl stuff has kept me busy, and i got very engrossed in writing this next chapter. but just know that i read and appreciated all of them <3 <3 <3


	11. lichen and moss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a storm in the mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! another chapter that grew on me in the telling, so i ended up splitting it in half. it was a good call, cos this is 10k on its own lol.

The first thing Allura notices, when she wakes up the next morning, is that part of Shiro's hair has turned white. It makes for an interesting conversation when he eventually rouses from his bedroll and limps blearily over to the fire. She lets him eat a little before she tells him about it, though.

"What?" he asks, when he catches her staring for the third time.

"Your, uh… your hair is white," she says.

"What?" His hand flies to his head. "Wait, all of it?"

She laughs at his confused expression. "No. Just a bit of it."

"How much?"

"Here. I'll show you."

She gets up and stands in front of him, where he sits on a fallen rock. He makes no protest as she teases out the thick lock of white hair that now hangs in the centre of his forehead.

"I didn't know you were this vain," she says.

"I'm not vain," he protests. "I'm just curious."

"There." She shows him the extent of the white hair, and he takes it from her hands and runs the strands through his fingers with an adorably confused expression on his face.

"How?" he asks.

"It can happen, sometimes," Allura says with a shrug. "You must be sensitive to quintessence. I used quite a lot of power to heal you."

"And that turned my hair white?"

She smiles, and runs her fingers absently through his fringe. The white hairs seem to sparkle slightly in the light.

"Maybe you're a little bit Blessed after all," she says softly.

"You know I was joking when I said I was an angel." He gazes up at her with an almost reverent expression, and lets her card through his hair without complaint.

"The Goddess didn't think so," Allura tells him. "This is a sign of Her divine favour."

"She really did send me to protect you," Shiro murmurs.

Allura smiles down at him as she plays with his hair. The thought is deeply comforting, after everything she has been through; and the streak of white at his forehead serves as a permanent reminder of just how much he would risk to keep her safe. He returns her smile, and her heart flutters, and she drops her hands and sits down before she gets tempted to do something truly foolish.

* * *

She tries to convince Shiro to rest for the day in the cave, but he insists on leaving as soon as possible. Their campsite is too close to the place where they fought the bandits; the risk of them returning is too great. Allura relents in the face of his insistence that he is fine, and even though she thinks he should take it easy, they break camp and set off up the road once more.

Before they go, Shiro pauses to wash the blood from his sword in the pool outside the caves. Allura averts her gaze as he does so. The blood reminds her too much of the fight yesterday, and the lives she took in her moment of desperation. She tries to console herself with the knowledge that her actions saved Shiro's life, but it still does not sit right with her. She is one of the Blessed. She is supposed to give life, not take it away, and even though she knows it was necessary it still weighs heavy on her heart.

They avoid the battleground from last night, and make their way back to the road without passing through the clearing, so Allura is at least spared the sight of the dead bodies. Shiro takes some of the green medicine and insists that he is fine, but Allura suspects that he is in more pain than he lets on. But he is also right, unfortunately: they cannot waste a day waiting in a cave - not with bandits roaming the area, looking for easy targets - and they have no choice but to continue.

They follow the road higher into the mountains, and as they climb up the pass the crowds on the road dwindle. They pass fewer booths and stalls, and the trees grow taller and denser by the roadside, undisturbed by paths or people.

With the higher altitude, the air grows chill, and Shiro - having lost his vest to bloodstains the night before - starts to shiver in the brisk air. They pause to buy a vest of thick, warm linen from one of the traders, and then retreat a few paces under the trees so that Shiro can change.

He pulls off his tunic, and Allura takes the opportunity to inspect the wound on his side. The skin is completely healed over, leaving two fresh red scars, and she runs her fingers over the marks. She feels the raised lines where the skin knitted together, and the pulse of quintessence in his torso as the internal injuries also heal.

"I told you it's fine," Shiro says, although there's no annoyance in his tone. "You don't need to keep poking at it."

"Maybe I just like feeling you up," Allura says.

The words escape her unprompted, and she regrets them immediately. The comment is completely inappropriate, even as a joke, and she probably made Shiro uncomfortable, and they have to walk over a whole mountain together and she just _had_ to go and open her mouth like a fool…

She looks up, terrified of his reaction and fully prepared to apologise profusely - only to see him grinning crookedly at her. The surprise shows clearly on his face, but he doesn't look the least bit offended or put out.

"Oh well, in that case," he says, "this side also really hurts."

He points at the other side of his abdomen, and his expression progresses into full-blown cheekiness. He gestures at his back.

"And my shoulders, too," he goes on. "They're really sore, I think you should--"

"Alright, that's enough," she cuts him off, but it takes all her willpower to keep the dorky smile from her face; and judging by Shiro's expression, he knows it, too.

"You're fine," she says, trying to sound composed and professional.

"Are you sure?" he asks, mock-serious. "You can keep looking if you want."

"Just put your clothes back on," she tells him. This time, she absolutely fails to hold back her delighted grin, and she has to turn around to hide her expression as Shiro redresses and picks up his knapsack. She does not trust herself to look at him until they are ready to set off again, and they head back towards the road. As they clear the trees and resume their journey, Allura risks a glance at Shiro, and finds him watching her cautiously. He smiles when he catches her gaze, and she looks hastily away before he has the chance to comment on the flush of pink in her cheeks.

This is new. This is more than just good-humoured teasing to pass the time and keep each other amused on the road. There's a playful glint in his eyes that she's never seen before, along with a confident smile that's about _~thisclose~_ to being a knowing smirk. She has no idea what any of it means, but she suddenly does not know what to do with herself around him. Not when he's smiling at her like that.

Shiro has been a lot of things to her on their journey from Oriande, but 'flirtatious' has not hitherto been one of them. Friendly, yes. Supportive and kind? Certainly. But the flirting is an entirely new development, and it is equal parts thrilling and distracting.

Who knew he had it in him? Stoic Captain Shiro of the Castle Guard, always so serious and stern… and now he's teasing her about wanting to get her hands all over him. Which is entirely her own fault, really, because she was the one who made the comment in the first place, but still. He can't be _actually_ flirting with her, can he? Surely not. _Surely_.

But she doesn't know what else to make of it. Something changed, after their conversation last night, and it's like a barrier fell away and now Shiro is showing her something she's never seen before. Maybe it's something new for him, too. Or maybe he was just… holding himself back before, and now he's not, and she's just seeing something that's always been there beneath the surface.

He called her _marksglow_. The memory of it burns through her mind like a comet as they round another bend in the road and head up the next rocky slope towards the inevitable summit. She's fairly certain he didn't mean to say it out loud. Maybe he didn't intend to say it at all? He was pretty out of it after his injury, so perhaps she shouldn't read too much into it. Captain Merla used to call her _'sweetheart'_ all the time and that never meant anything beyond simple affection.

But _marksglow_ is different. It isn't a term you just throw around. People don't say it outside of relationships, and even between lovers it usually means something serious and heartfelt. So is that… is that how Shiro sees her? Is it what he wants from her? Was it his way of telling her their kiss in the village was real?

She should just ask him directly. But it seems like such a silly thing to think about at a time like this. She is on the run, pursued by bandits and Galra soldiers, her entire kingdom lost to the tyrant who murdered her family… and the question occupying most of her mind is whether or not the man she is falling for has any feelings for her in return. She should be focusing on other things - how to save her kingdom, how to make it safely to Olkar, how to plan her return to the throne - not Shiro.

But she still wants to ask him. And that feels foolish and self-indulgent. She has a duty to her people, and that duty does not include romance with the handsome Guard Captain who saved her life and kept her company on the road. So it doesn't matter, one way or the other, about his feelings or hers or how much the two overlap. It doesn't matter and she shouldn't be thinking about it.

But she can't _stop_ thinking about it. Not with the way Shiro looks at her.

* * *

She mulls it over for most of the day, as they climb ever higher up the mountain pass, and she tries to find either the courage or the correct words to bring up the subject. The trees start to thin out and the landscape becomes more rocky and unforgiving, and gradually the _chaiwalay_ and fruit stands disappear and the road empties out. They mostly pass other groups of travellers, and rows of wagons trudging up towards the peaks, going slower with every bend as the road narrows and becomes more treacherous.

The climb grows harder, and as the afternoon shadows lengthen Allura's concern over Shiro's feelings for her switches to a more fundamental concern for his wellbeing. He tries not to show it, but his injury still bothers him, and the green medicine only goes so far towards relieving his pain. He walks slower than normal, and winces a lot, and sometimes she glances over to see him clutching his side and breathing heavily.

They pause beneath a stand of pine trees that grow beside towering rocks, and Allura lifts up Shiro's tunic so she can inspect his wound again.

"We should stop," she says, as she runs her fingers over the scars.

"I'm fine," Shiro says. "We should keep going for another couple of hours, at least."

She gives him a stern look.

"I can feel your quintessence," she reminds him. "I can tell you're in pain. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" he protests. "I never said it didn't hurt. I just said we should keep going. Let me take more of the medicine and I'll be fine."

"No, you won't," Allura says. "This kind of healing takes a lot of your energy. You need more rest than normal until it's complete, otherwise you'll exhaust yourself."

"We still have some _tychin_ powder left," Shiro says. "I can take some of that."

She stares at him in disbelief, and he gives her his most adorable confused expression.

"What?" he asks, as if he hasn't just suggested something utterly irresponsible.

"Goddess, you're a complete disaster," Allura mutters. "How about we just make camp early? Instead of you mixing together all the tinctures you can find and then passing out and hallucinating by the roadside."

"That won't happen. Probably."

"I wanted you to rest all day, remember?" she goes on. "And you refused. So consider this a compromise."

She gives him her most imperious look, and to her surprise it works. His face softens, and he relents.

"Fine, fine," he concedes. "I guess we can make camp now."

They head off the road and find a secluded cave between the rocks, and Allura gathers firewood from outside whilst Shiro lays out their bedrolls. Now that they have stopped for the day, his weariness and pain becomes more obvious: he is withdrawn and tired, and keeps rubbing his side where the scars mark his skin.

"You should get some rest," Allura tells him, and he doesn't argue. He flops down onto his bedroll, and Allura lets him doze in peace whilst she goes out to fill their canteens and scout the area. When she returns, she sits by the fire for a while, poking at the burning branches and thinking.

He called her _marksglow_. He kissed her like he meant it. And maybe it's selfish to want it all to be real, but… Shiro is the one bright, good thing she has in her life. Everything else is gone to darkness and ruin, and she has a long road and a difficult task ahead, and if she can find some tiny scrap of happiness along the way, then she will take it and hold onto it like a lifeline. Even if it _is_ weakness. Even if she might have to give him up one day, or changing circumstances might force them apart. And maybe she'll never find the courage to do more than just flirt with him, and let herself enjoy his company; but it's better than nothing.

He stirs behind her, and she glances over at him as he sits up in the bedroll, clutching his side.

"How long did I sleep for?" he mumbles.

"A couple of hours, I think," she says. The sky outside the cave reddens with the sunset, but it is not yet full dark. Allura gets up and crosses to Shiro's side, a canteen of water in her hand.

"Why am I still tired?" he asks.

She hands him the water, and he takes a few sips from the canteen.

"I told you. The healing process takes a lot out of you. It should pass by tomorrow."

He nods, and reaches for the vial of green medicine from his pack. Allura frowns.

"Does it still hurt?" she asks.

"A little."

"Let me see."

He lifts up his tunic obediently, and Allura lays her hand over the freshly-healed skin. She can feel the quintessence in his body, responding to her touch. It is more settled than it was earlier; hopefully, by tomorrow, he should be fully recovered. She runs a finger over the raised ridges on his skin, and frowns.

"I left a scar," she says quietly. "I usually try not to leave scars."

"Allura, come on," Shiro says. "That doesn't matter. I can just add it to my collection."

She gives him a disapproving look.

"That's such a soldier thing to say."

He chuckles, and the playful spark dances in his eyes again.

"I already have plenty, it's fine," he says. "See, this one? That's from a spear." He points to a scar on his other side, below his ribcage, and Allura takes the silently-offered excuse and brushes her thumb over the mark.

"This one's from getting grazed by an arrow," he goes on. He pulls aside the neck of his tunic and shows her another scar on his shoulder. She brushes her fingers over his skin, and the thrill of their closeness ripples through her.

"What's this one?" she asks, running her thumb over a raised welt near his collarbone.

"That's from when I was six," he chuckles. "I wasn't looking where I was going, and I ran into a table."

She laughs, softly. "I have a scar too, you know."

She pulls up her tunic before she can talk herself out of it, and points to the raised mark on her belly, just to the side of her naval. Shiro reaches out to feel it; his hand slides around her hip, pressed lightly to her bare skin, and his thumb grazes the scar. Her skin tingles beneath his fingers, and her whole body seems to come alive under his touch. It takes all her concentration just to breathe.

Shiro looks up and catches her eye. He pulls his hand away - but the shadow of reluctance passes over his face, and she cannot help but wonder if he enjoyed the simple touch as much as she did.

"Where did you get that?" he asks.

"I was twelve," Allura explains. "I was playing with one of my cousins, and we snuck into an armoury at the Castle that was rarely used. We found some small swords, and started play fighting with them. But… my cousin stabbed me by mistake."

Shiro chuckles as she tells the story, and the sound sends pleasant shivers running down her spine.

"What did your parents say?" he asks, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"They never found out. I was too scared to tell them, because we weren't supposed to be in the armoury. So I just ran out. Bleeding everywhere."

She cannot help but smile as she tells it - especially with Shiro sitting in front of her laughing, his face lit up with joy.

"What did you do?" he asks.

"I told my Aunt Romelle. She was the only adult I trusted. And I thought I was going to die."

"From a little scratch like that?"

"I was twelve!" she protests, and Shiro collapses back into laughter.

"I thought I would bleed to death or something," she goes on. "Actually it was Aunt Esma who patched me up. Although she was still a handmaiden back then. And then Aunt Romelle told my parents I tripped and fell onto some rocks."

"So you survived your brush with death?" Shiro says. Amusement shines clearly in his eyes, and even though he's teasing her, Allura cannot bring herself to be annoyed.

"I know it's not as dramatic as yours," she says.

"I'm just happy to finally hear some of _your_ embarrassing childhood stories," he teases, and Allura smiles.

"Well, you did almost die," she points out.

"So now I'm getting special treatment?" He tries for the confident grin again, but it gets lost in a yawn.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I don't know why I'm still tired."

"I told you - the healing takes a lot out of you. You should sleep some more. I'll watch the camp for a bit."

"Are you sure? I can--"

"No," she cuts him off firmly. "You can _nothing_. Get some sleep."

He lies back down in the his bedroll, still grumbling half-heartedly. Allura kneels beside him, and as he lets his eyes close she brushes the few white strands away from his forehead.

"Goodnight, Shiro," she says.

"Takashi," he murmurs.

Allura stops in her tracks, caught with her hand half-pulled-back from his forehead. She recognises his first name, of course; she remembers it from when her father formally introduced him to the family years ago. But she hasn't heard it since, except in the privacy of her own fanciful imagination.

"You saved my life," he goes on, his eyes half-closed and his voice soft with weariness. "I think you can call me Takashi at this point."

"So I earned first name privileges?" she asks. She tries to keep her voice light, in spite of the way her heart hammers against her ribs. "And all it took was one embarrassing story."

He grins, even as his eyes drift closed. "Special treatment," he murmurs, and Allura is suddenly glad that he has his eyes closed and therefore cannot see how foolishly hopeful her grin is. She runs her fingers through his hair one last time.

"Goodnight, Takashi," she whispers, and Shiro smiles.

She leaves him to his rest, and sits by the fire and watches the sun set and the stars come out. The flames cast flickering shadows against the cave walls, and Allura pokes at the burning logs until sparks jump out and dance away with the smoke. Shiro sleeps peacefully, too worn out to even stir.

Hanyini do not use first names often; only with people they are close to. Shiro told her that once, on the road, and she took it as a subtle hint that she should not get too familiar and try calling him 'Takashi' just because they shared bedrolls and body heat every night. She never heard anyone call him that in Oriande, either. So how close must he feel to her, now, to let her call him by his first name?

She can add it to the list of things to ask him about. If she ever musters the nerve to bring it up, that is. At this rate, she'll probably just run around in circles inside her own head, trying to think of the exact perfect way to phrase it… and then blurt it all out in an argument without meaning to.

She sighs, and pokes at the flames. It shouldn't be this difficult to just _ask him_ how he really feels about her. But they are alone in the wilds, halfway up a mountain, and if she gambles and gets it wrong then it will be a long, awkward trek to Olkar for both of them. So the sensible thing to do would be to let the matter rest. It's just selfish, anyway; she should focus on her mission and her task. Get to Olkar safely and worry about romance later.

But she is not that sensible. Not when it comes to Shiro. All he has to do is smile at her and she forgets how to form coherent sentences. Just the memory of his hands on her waist and his lips pressed to hers is enough to send heat flooding her belly.

She glances over at where he lies sleeping. She cannot help but wonder if he ever feels this way about her; if he has ever sat up at night thinking about her, the way she thinks about him. Perhaps if she can find some courage, she can figure out a way to ask him. Or maybe he's already given her the answer, and she just hasn't let herself see it yet.

* * *

Calling Shiro 'Takashi' takes some getting used to, in large part because Allura's heart flutters every time she even thinks of saying his first name. Which is silly, because she's called him _'Shiro'_ a thousand times by now, so why is she suddenly so aware of saying his name? But the next morning when they head out onto the road, she spots a _chaiwala_ selling warm muffins, and without even thinking she calls out to him with "Takashi, wait". For an instant, his entire face lights up, and he tries to hide a grin as he crosses to her side to buy tea and cakes. But she catches the flush of red in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold.

She wonders how much it means to him that she uses his first name, and not the name everyone knows him by. Perhaps he feels the same way she did when he first started calling her _'Allura'_ instead of _'Princess'_. She remembers the soft thrill of it - of hearing her name spoken and not her title. It carries a simple, gentle intimacy; and now she can give that same sense of closeness back to him in some small way.

He has changed so much since Oriande that it feels almost fitting to call him by a different name. Or maybe he hasn't _changed_ , as such - it is just that she is seeing another side of him that was previously hidden from her. When they left Oriande, they were barely even acquaintances. And now they are… well. She doesn't know _what_ they are, exactly, except that they are undoubtedly much closer than a Princess and her Captain of the Guard should ever really be.

* * *

That morning, they head on up the mountain pass and leave the trees behind. The landscape to either side of the road turns to barren scrubland, populated only by a few scruffy bushes here and there. Lizards crawl over the rocks, and they spot the occasional hawk high overhead.

As the day draws on, clouds begin to gather above them, and the temperature drops. When they pause to fill their canteens at a well beside the road, they ask one of the local guides if it rains often in the mountains.

"Sometimes," she tells them. "This looks like a bad storm coming. The roads can flood in weather like this. You ought to find shelter before it starts."

"What should we do?" Allura asks Shiro, as they set off once more.

"Let's keep going for a bit," he suggests. "But keep a lookout for any caves we can shelter in."

They climb higher, mindful of the weather, and Shiro pauses to buy a bundle of firewood from a passing caravan. The land here is so sparse there is barely even kindling to get a fire going. The sky gradually darkens; the sun hidden behind layers of cloud that blot out the light.

The first warning sign of the storm is a sudden chill, as if all the warmth has drained out of the air at once. Allura shivers in her cloak and glances at the sky. The wind picks up and tugs at her hair, and Shiro pauses to look around them and up at the clouds.

"We should get off the road," he says. "I think the rain's coming."

She nods her agreement, and they head upwards towards a ledge overlooking the mountain pass below. The wind buffets them as they climb, and by the time they reach the rock shelf the first drops of rain patter into the dust at their feet. Lightening brightens the sky in flickers of white, and the rumble of thunder seems to shake the very earth beneath them. Finally, they find the mouth of a cave, and duck inside just as the rain starts to fall in earnest.

They stand beneath the shelter of the rocks and watch the storm break over the mountain pass. The rain falls so quickly and so heavily it seems to fill the air, and the wind howls around the cavemouth and sends water droplets scattering in every direction. The lightening is relentless, flickering like a heartbeat in the sky, and thunder wraps the world in its powerful embrace. Within a few minutes, the road below their shelter has turned into a river; water gushes over the rocks and finds the fastest passage down the mountain towards the plains far below.

"That guide wasn't messing about when she talked about the storms," Shiro says wryly. "It's lucky we found a cave when we did."

"What do we do now?" Allura asks.

Shiro shrugs. "There's not a lot we can do. Even if the rain stops, the paths won't be safe for hours. We'll have to just make camp here for the night."

Allura is inclined to grumble about it, but Shiro has a point: the road below them looks impassable, and until the storm clears and the water washes out of the mountain pass it is too risky to carry on. But it is only an hour or so past noon; they will lose half a day's travel waiting out the rain.

That being said… she will get to spend the afternoon alone in a cave with Shiro. With nothing much to do. And some small, selfish part of her can't help but feel happy about that fact.

They retreat a little way into the cave and find a flat stone ledge surrounded by upright rocks, and they light the fire and lay out the bedrolls. The cave is bigger than it appears from the entrance, and extends back far into the mountainside, and before they settle in they take a torch from the fire and explore the extent of it.

Some minimal scouting reveals that the ledge on which they have set up camp is about halfway into the cave. The space is long and narrow, like a passageway of living rock, and on one side the floor dips down into a narrow, rocky streambed that carries a trickle of water from the depths of the cave towards the outside world. Moss and lichen grow on the rocks, and stalactites hang from the ceiling and drip gently into the water below.

They follow the stream towards the back of the cave, and as they go they find some signs of past use. Small stones mark out a pathway down the centre of the cavern - and despite debris and rocks covering it, Allura catches sight of smooth paving slabs laid into the stone floor. Shiro turns the corner ahead of her, the torch in his hand, and lets out a low whistle. When she joins him, she sees way.

The cave ends in a high, flat wall of black stone; and carved into the rockface there stands an arched doorway. The double doors are sealed shut and bear signs of long disuse: the moulding is cracked and worn; the floor beneath the doors is strewn with rubble. But dwarven runes still gleam faintly on the stonework, and to one side Allura spots a mechanism that is obviously dwarvish in design.

"Should we try and open it?" Shiro asks.

"Probably not," Allura says. "Balmera Province is semi-autonomous. The dwarves have jurisdiction here. If we enter their delves without permission, it's an act of trespass."

Shiro nods. "It doesn't look like it gets used much, anyway."

"It might be an old entrance that was shut down."

"Someone comes here, though," Shiro points out. "Look."

He carries the torch over to the side of the doorway, and the light flickers over some fallen pillars that demarcate an area that must once have been an overseer's office. Someone has clearly repurposed the open space for recreational use: a few tent-like shelters stand between the columns, alongside a firepit and some furs and cushions strewn across the paving slabs. Shiro pokes at an empty bottle with his toe, and it rolls away and comes to rest against a wooden crate that must serve as makeshift seating.

"Maybe travellers stop here, sometimes," Allura says.

"Maybe kids come out here to get away from their parents."

He gives her a rather knowing look, and Allura smiles.

"Should we move our camp back here?" she asks.

Shiro shakes his head. "Leave it. If this is someone else's resting place, we don't want to intrude."

They poke around a little more out of curiosity, but the cave yields no more secrets, and they head back to their campsite on the ledge. The rain still falls heavily outside, and from their perch on the rocks they can clearly see the cavemouth - as wide and high as a picture window - and the storm rumbling on outside. Shiro sits on his bedroll, his back propped against one of the standing stones, and Allura builds up the fire and watches the rain fall outside.

"Are you cold?" Shiro asks her.

She glances over at him, where he sits bathed in firelight. She isn't cold at all, but she nods anyway, because they are alone in this cave and she will take any opportunity to get closer to him. He lifts up his arm, wordlessly inviting her to come and sit next to him, and she tries not to appear over-eager as she settles down beside him. He drapes his arm around her shoulders, and they sit and gaze out at the rain pouring down onto the mountainside.

"This reminds me of Oriande," Allura says quietly. "And the sun room in the west wing. I used to go and sit there every time it rained."

"I remember that place," Shiro says. "Your father always used to send me with you when you went there. He didn't like you being in that part of the Castle alone."

Allura smiles at the memory: the circular room with huge windows set into every wall, and the view out over the lawn that sloped down to the Castle wall. And beyond the wall, the forest rippling in the wind. She used to sit there in the rain, watching dark clouds roil across the sky; counting the heartbeats between thunder and lightning. She would go there every time there was a storm, to sit and enjoy the rain and wind - and every time, her father sent Shiro with her to keep her safe.

"That place was supposed to be for enjoying the sun," Allura says. "You must have wondered why I went there when the weather was miserable."

"Not really," Shiro says. "That room always felt rather magical in the rain."

He smiles at her, and she answers with a grin of her own.

"It did, didn't it? It felt so lonely and beautiful."

She turns back to cavemouth, and it is almost like being back in the sun room in Oriande, watching a storm pass over the capitol. It makes her crave the comforts of home.

"Do you know what I want right now?" she says.

Shiro chuckles, and she feels it ripple through her.

"Let me guess," he says. "You want spiced tea and rose _rahat_."

She looks up at him, and his grin warms her like a fire never can.

"How do you know that?" she asks.

"You always had that when it rained."

"I can't believe you noticed that," she says. The knowledge that he picked up on her rainy day routine, even from a distance, floods her with joy.

"Hey, I'm a guard," Shiro says. "It's my job to notice things."

Allura tries to give him a stern look, and utterly ruins it with her own delighted smile.

"No, your _job_ is to notice enemies rushing across the lawns towards me," she teases. "Not my tea-drinking habits."

"You had it _every_ time, _Hime-sama_ ," Shiro chuckles.

Laughter bubbles out of her, echoing around the cave and dancing like firelight.

"You're right. I did. It was my favourite thing to do in the rain."

"I figured."

"I would sit there and drink spiced tea and eat rose _rahat_ and just… watch the rain fall."

She feels Shiro's laughter as it shakes his shoulders, and his arm tightens around her ever so slightly.

"And you used to walk backwards and forwards in front of the windows," she goes on. "Keeping an eye on the lawn."

"Yeah, and ruining the view."

He grins as he says it, clearly meaning it as a joke; but Allura is struck by the irony of the statement. Because the exact opposite is true. One of the highlights of her rainy day jaunts to the sun room was knowing that her father would send Shiro to accompany her, and she could sit in the room and watch him walk around whilst pretending to be solely interested in the weather. But is she brave enough to tell him that?

"I wouldn't say you ruined it," she says, in a sudden fit of courage. His eyebrows raise in surprise, and his smile is so soft and warm that Allura has to turn away to try and regain some composure. She can hardly believe she actually said it. _Out loud_. When she glances back at Shiro, she finds him still lost for words, and she is suddenly desperate to change the subject.

"My father trusted you to keep me safe," she says. "That's why he always sent you with me. He trusted you above anyone else."

She means it only as a point of conversation, but Shiro's face falls as she says it.

"Maybe be shouldn't have," he mutters.

"Why would you say that?" she asks.

Shiro lifts his arm away from her shoulders and sits up. He scrubs both hands over his face.

"It's nothing," he mumbles, but she can tell it's not.

"Tell me." She lays a hand on his arm, and he turns to look at her, a frown creasing his brows and a shadow in his eyes.

"Do you ever… do you blame me for your family being attacked?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and it leaves Allura stunned. Shiro looks at her, his expression heavy with guilt and regret, and all she wants to do is hold him in her arms and run her hands through his hair and tell him she has never once blamed him, ever, for any of it.

"Of course not," she breathes. "I would never… when have I ever said that?"

"You haven't," he says. "It's just that…"

He scowls at his hands, and rubs his thumbs together.

"I blame myself," he finishes.

"Takashi, don't," Allura says. She places a hand on his chin and turns his head gently towards her, so she can meet his gaze. "This is not your fault."

He looks at her in silence, as if he simply wants to take in the sight of her, and some of the guilt drains away from his eyes.

"Why are you thinking about this now?" she asks softly.

He huffs a tiny, frustrated laugh, and turns back to watch the flames of the campfire.

"I don't know," he says. "Maybe because we're talking about the Castle. But it's been in the back of my mind ever since we fled Oriande. I should have stopped it. I should have seen it coming. I almost _did_ , but then I just…"

Allura frowns. "What do you mean?"

Shiro doesn't look at her. His eyes dart between the campfire and the rain that still falls outside the cave, and he puts his knuckle in his mouth and chews it.

"In the days before the attack, there were so many Galra soldiers around the Castle," he says. "And I had such an uneasy feeling about. Something felt wrong. But when I spoke to General Loris, he told me to drop it. He said it was nothing to worry about, and they were just learning the layout of the keep in preparation for the big Summer Rituals. So I left it."

Allura sits up and hugs her knees to her chest. She remembers General Loris all too well: tall, jovial, fond of playing _chu-tin_ in the courtyard. He had been a member of the Royal Council for years. She shakes her head.

"General Loris was one of my father's closest advisors," she says, and Shiro looks away from the flames and meets her gaze. "My father trusted him implicitly. He oversaw the Castle Guards, the army, the spies, the diplomats… he pulled on all the threads. And that night… I saw him standing beside Zarkon in the throne room. When my father…"

She trails off. The words are still too hard to say; the memories too painful. She recalls blood on the floor, her father's face… she shudders. Shiro reaches for her hand, and she lets him thread his fingers between hers.

"He betrayed us," she goes on. "My father trusted him to protect the crown. To warn him of any threats from within. And in the end… he sold us out to King Zarkon and the Galra, and stood there and watched my father die."

Anger blazes bright within her, and she has to blink back furious tears. Instinctively, she shifts closer to Shiro, and they sit half-facing each other in the firelight, listening to the rain pour down outside and wash the world clean.

"The soldier I met in town told me that General Loris took the army over to Zarkon's side," Shiro says. "He told them they serve under the Galra now. Before the attack… I knew something was wrong. But General Loris ordered me to drop it, and I had to."

"He outranks you," Allura says simply. "What else could you have done?"

"I don't know. Something!" He pulls his hand away from hers and scrubs at his face again.

"Is that what bothers you?" Allura asks. "That it was out of your hands?"

"Yeah," he mumbles. "I don't like feeling powerless."

She nods wordlessly, and watches the shadows dance over his face.

"That night… General Loris was the one who told me to leave the keep," Shiro goes on. "Usually I would have been inside. But he came to me and told me the soldiers on the wall were slacking off, and I should go and shake them up a little. So I went out on the wall on patrol."

"He wanted to get you out of the way," Allura murmurs. "He knew you would ruin his plans."

Shiro turns back to her, and she reads the sorrow and regret in his eyes and her heart aches for him.

"I'm sorry," he says, simple and heartfelt and raw.

"Whatever for?"

"I failed your father. He needed me, and I wasn't there."

"But you were there for me, when _I_ needed you," Allura points out. "You got me to safety. You saved my life, over and over again."

He shakes his head, and looks back at the fire.

"I should have stopped it," he says. "I should have done something about it."

"Takashi, look at me," she says, and he obeys. She reaches for his hand once more, and runs her thumb over his fingers.

"This was not your fault," she says. "I don't blame you. I've never been mad at you, or resented you for what happened."

"I know," he says. "It's just that… you have every right to resent me, I suppose."

"That's not how I see it."

"Then how do you see it?" he asks. His expression softens as he looks at her, and Allura searches for the words to soothe the anxiety that clouds his eyes.

"You were right where you needed to be," she says. "General Loris sent you onto the wall because he needed to get you out of the way. I know you. I know what you would have done if you had been in the Castle during the attack. You would have died trying to protect my father. You would have given your life for him."

Shiro does not protest, or disagree, and she wraps her fingers around his and presses on.

"But you weren't in the Castle. You were outside. And so when I fled - when I needed someone to step in and save me - you were there. You were right where you needed to be."

"The Will of the Goddess?" Shiro asks.

Allura smiles. "I believe so, yes. Our fates are written for us. General Loris tried to get you out of the way so that his plan could succeed. But in the process, he inadvertently made my escape possible. Because I ran out in a panic. I had no idea what to do. I never expected to see you, of all people. But I was desperate, and I prayed to the Goddess to send someone to help me… and you appeared."

Shiro looks away from her, down at their joined hands, but his expression is no longer pensive, and a slight smile tugs at his lips.

"So this is my destiny?" he asks.

"The Goddess has a plan for you," Allura says. "As she has a plan for all of us. It's just that… her plan for you involves you traipsing around in the wilderness. Getting cold. Sleeping in caves."

Shiro chuckles as she describes it, and he looks up to meet her gaze.

"Doesn't sound too bad to me," he says.

"You don't think so?"

"Well… I get to traipse around with you," he says.

"And that makes it all worthwhile?" Allura asks with a smile. She means it mostly as a joke; a way to lighten the mood. But Shiro opens and closes his mouth as if he's not sure what to say to her. His forehead creases slightly, and he looks from her hands to her face to the fire and back again, seemingly searching for… something. Words, perhaps, that will not come.

"Allura, I, uhm…" he begins, and trails off. He plays with her fingers, and tries again.

"You know, what I said about…"

He stops. And then the softness leaves his face, all at once, and he drops her hand and gets up into a crouch.

"Stay down," he warns her, and his whole body is tense and alert as he peers around the rocks.

Allura crouches beside him, her heart racing - and then she realises what prompted his sudden caution. Voices drift down to them from the back of the cave; and around the corner she catches the faint white glow of some ethereal light. Someone is in the back of the cave, near to the doorway in the rock.

Shiro draws his sword and inches forward, towards the edge of their campsite, and Allura follows him. The voices draw closer and take on the form of words.

"That's dwarvish," Allura whispers.

As she says it, two figures round the corner: a young dwarvish woman holding a crystal that glows a soft white, and an equally-young dwarvish man with a cheery face and a bright orange headband. The pair emerge cautiously, peering around the rocks, and the woman calls out "hello?" in a soft, lilting accent.

Shiro lets out a string of Hon-sun that sounds suspiciously like swear words. He sheaths his sword and stands up.

"They're just kids," he mutters.

Allura is inclined to believe him, because when she stands up both the figures yelp in surprise and duck back behind the turn in the cavern. The sound of frantic whispering echoes around the rocks, before they emerge again looking apprehensive.

"Hey!" Shiro calls. "We're not here to start a fight!"

He scrambles down from the ledge, and Allura follows him. The two dwarves cross the cave floor towards them, still carrying the white crystal. But at least the fear has faded from their expressions.

"We didn't mean to disturb anyone," Shiro says. "We just stopped here to get out of the rain."

"That's quite alright," the young woman says. "This cave is rarely used."

"Yeah, we just come here to--" the young man begins.

"…talk," the woman says, quickly. "And have fun. Watch the rain, that sort of thing."

Allura glances between the two of them, and a sudden very clear picture forms in her mind. She bites her lip to keep from smirking.

"I'm Shay," the young woman says. "And this is Hunk. My… friend."

Allura watches Hunk's face as Shiro returns the introductions. He bears the look of a young man who very clearly expected to be alone with his young lady at this point, and would very much like to return to that scenario as quickly as possible. Allura tries not to laugh.

"Were you travelling across the mountain?" Shay asks.

"Yes," Allura replies. "We're headed to Naxum, but the storm flooded out the road."

"Oh yeah, that can happen if the rain's bad," Hunk says. "But you're welcome to camp in this cave. No one ever uses it."

"Forgive me for asking, but are you one of the Blessed?" Shay says.

With a jolt, Allura realises her marks are glowing. She got so caught up watching Hunk's reaction that she didn't think much about the glowing crystal. But it's powered by quintessence, and now that she concentrates, she can sense its gentle hum rippling through her and lighting up the marks on her face and body.

"I am, yes," she says. She glances at Shiro, who looks concerned at the revelation. Tension returns to his body, and his hand strays to his sword hilt.

"We have heard many concerning rumours about the Blessed," Shay says. "Some travellers say the Galra soldiers have taken over our lands, and the Blessed are no longer safe."

"It's true," Shiro says. "No one can know _Hime-sama_ is Blessed. Her life would be in danger."

Allura catches the warning tone in his voice; and judging by their expressions, the young dwarvish couple catch it too. Shay's face falls, and she looks at Allura in concern.

"You should come inside our delve," she says. "It will be safer than waiting out here. We can take you back to meet our tribe."

"Or you could just… stay here," Hunk says. "It's raining anyway. You'll probably be fine."

"Hunk, please," Shay chides him.

Hunk mutters something in dwarvish, but it is a dialect Allura has never learned, and so the meaning of it goes over her head. She can guess the gist of it, however - especially when Shay replies in a disapproving tone. A brief discussion in hushed dwarvish follows, and judging by their respective facial expressions Allura concludes that Hunk is probably upset at his evening being disrupted, but Shay successfully overrules him with her concerns.

"I guess you should come back with us," Hunk says, his face a picture of disappointed resignation.

"We don't want to be a burden," Shiro says. "We're fine camping out in the cave."

"Not at all," Shay says. "Forgive me, but… we haven't been visited by one of the Blessed in many years. We would be honoured if you would join us. The Matriarch would love to meet you."

She looks at them so beseechingly that Allura cannot bring herself to say no. And truth be told… the prospect of getting out of the cavern and into somewhere actually warm and comfortable is incredibly tempting. Besides, the Balmeran dwarves are fiercely loyal to the Blessed, and Shay's concern is clearly genuine.

Allura glances over at Shiro, who stands watching her with a frown on his face. He takes her by the arm and pulls her to one side.

"It's your call," he says. "Can we trust them?"

"I think so, yes," Allura says. "We have a good relationship with the dwarf tribes, and they hold very little love for the Galra. I doubt they would betray us. We might be safer inside the delve, if it keeps raining."

Shiro takes in her earnest expression, and glances over at the two dwarves who stand watching them eagerly. He nods.

"Alright, we'll come inside," he says to Shay. "Just give us a minute to pack up our camp."

Shiro hops back onto the ledge and helps Allura up behind him, and they set about breaking camp as quickly as they can. It does not take long to retie the bedrolls and damp down the fire, and then they hoist their knapsacks onto their backs again. As she settles her pack and checks her bow, Allura spares a glance at Hunk and Shay, who stand below the ledge conversing quietly in dwarvish. By the looks of things, Shay is pouring out the sweetness - possibly in an attempt to make up for the cancellation of their afternoon plans.

Allura turns back to Shiro where he stands adjusting his pack, and lowers her voice.

"So… do you think that they were here to… you know…?" She trails off, but Shiro gives her a knowing grin, and quirks an eyebrow at her.

"…hook up?" he finishes. "Yeah. I think that's exactly what this cave is for."

Allura clamps a hand over her mouth to keep back her laugh.

"We're in the kissing cave?" she asks breathlessly.

Shiro chuckles. "Yeah. If you want to put it like that."

"I feel bad," she says.

"Why? Cos we ruined their fun?"

Allura tries not to giggle, but the effort is futile. She nods.

"Although in our defence," she says. "We didn't know this is the cave where people come to get lucky."

"Actually… I kinda suspected."

Of course he did. Allura raises an eyebrow at him.

"We really wasted our time in here," she says. "All we did was sit and talk about the weather."

She says it mostly as a joke, because Shiro keeps making her flustered and she wants to try and get him back, and because the knowledge that she has actually been sitting in some kind of hook-up spot with Shiro for the past hour thrills her in a way she can't quite articulate. But Shiro does not get flustered. Instead, he reaches out and grasps her hand.

"Well…" He pulls her towards him, and she goes because she is so surprised she momentarily forgets how to resist. Which is how she finds herself standing breathlessly close to him, completely lost for words. He gives her a look which is _definitely_ a confident smirk.

"We can always come back later, if you really want to," he says.

His tone is light and playful, but that soft fire burns in his eyes, and Allura cannot tell if he means it. He can't _possibly_ be serious, can he?

"For what?" she asks teasingly. "A romantic evening among the rocks?"

"What's wrong with that?" he asks, and now she's almost _sure_ he's just joking. Almost. "These are some pretty nice rocks."

His half-serious expression is too much for her, and she bursts out laughing. He grins - completely irreverent, and clearly delighted at having amused her - and everything about it is adorable.

"You're cute," she says, before she can stop herself.

"But that's a good thing, right?" he asks, still smiling. His expression is as warm and open as she's ever seen it, and suddenly her body feels like living fire.

"Come on," she chides him. She tugs him by the hand, and he follows her without resistance. They climb back down from the ledge, and Allura tries to hide her delighted grin and the flush in her cheeks.

She knows, on some level, that she should resist this. She should not be getting excited over every playful word or touch. Her mission has not changed; her people need her, and her focus right now should be on getting to Naxum and thence to Olkar, quickly and safely. She should not be getting distracted by fanciful thoughts of Shiro kissing her in a cave whilst the rain pours down outside.

But she doesn't want to resist it. Because she feels _good_ , for the first time since her family died. Something changed, when she confessed all her fears to Shiro and he answered her with the reassurance that he cares about her beyond duty or honour. She cannot explain it, except that it is like being caught up in some wild, reckless storm. Her heart sings when he smiles at her, and when he touches her it is like lightening dances in her veins. Selfish it may be; but the way he makes her feel is thrilling and delightful and joyful, and she does not want to give that up just yet. She wants to cling to it, for as long as she can.

They follow Hunk and Shay towards the back of the cave, and Hunk crosses over to the mechanism that opens the entrance to the delve. The doors swing outwards, revealing a wide passageway that slopes gently down towards the heart of the mountain.

Allura glances at Shiro where he stands beside her. Maybe he wasn't serious in his offer before, and it was only intended as a silly joke to make her laugh. And maybe she'll never have the courage to ask him. But she is brave enough for one thing, at least. She reaches for his hand and threads her fingers between his, and he looks down at her and smiles, and it is enough. For now.

Shay holds the crystal high above her head, illuminating the passage in front of them, and they head through the doorway and into the dwarf delve.

* * *

* * *

General Acxa places her coffee cup down on the table, and steeples her fingers. The two bandits in front of her shift nervously, although this has more to do with the presence of General Zethrid standing behind them; the huge woman towers over most people, and has a knack for making people uncomfortable without even trying.

"So how do you know she was an alchemist?" she asks.

"We saw her do alchemy," the smaller of the two bandits replies. "She put her hands on the guy, and there was this blinding flash of light."

"It was alchemy," the other one adds. "I've seen it before."

Acxa nods. She pulls a coin out of the pouch in front of her, and rolls it between her fingers. The bandits watch the movement as if hypnotised.

"And the man she was with," Acxa says. "Tell me about him."

"He was a soldier," the first bandit says. "He fought like one, anyway. He was ruthless."

"Hmm. And he used a sword?"

"Yeah. That's right."

She drops the coin back into the pouch, and takes another sip of her coffee.

"What did the sword look like?" she asks. "Anything distinctive about it?"

"Well… it had a green pommel," the bandit says. "That's about it, really. It was just a normal sword."

"I see."

Acxa looks between the two of them. They're nothing but common thieves, when it comes down to it, and what they're interested in is the reward above anything else. But neither of them look like they have enough imagination to make up a story like this.

"You have done well," she tells them. "Prince Lotor will be told of your service to the new Empire."

She tosses the bag of coins to the first of the bandits, and stands up. She leaves them squabbling over the coin purse and heads out into the streets of Barrius, Zethrid following obediently behind her. Storm clouds hang over the distant mountains, and a chill in the air promises rain sooner rather than later.

"Fetch the spyglass," Acxa says to Zethrid. "We need to send a message to Lotor."

"Why were you asking about that guy's sword?" Zethrid asks.

Acxa pauses on the steps of the town hall, and looks out at the bustling street in front of her. A few nervous locals scurry past, but the presence of the Galra guards on the town hall steps has the crowd in a subdued mood.

"The soldiers of the Royal Guard carry swords with green pommel stones," Acxa explains. "And according to the thieves, this alchemist was powerful enough to heal a man who was bleeding to death. Only someone who is powerfully Blessed could achieve such a feat."

"So you think it's her?" Zethrid asks.

"It has to be," Acxa says. "It's Princess Allura. She escaped the Castle with a member of the Royal Guard, and he's still with her. They're heading across the mountain pass."

"I'll get the spyglass," Zethrid says, and she disappears inside the town hall.

Acxa lingers on the steps to watch the flow of people milling past, and her gaze strays back to the distant peaks. If the thieves are correct, then Princess Allura might be headed to Naxum. Lotor will want to know immediately. There's no time to waste.

Still, she feels a pang of guilt as she thinks about it. She met Princess Allura several times, as part of Altea's diplomatic relations with the Galra Empire. In another life, perhaps she might have seen her as a friend. But that can never be. Not anymore.

She shakes her head slightly, and focuses back on the task at hand. As the first drops of rain begin to fall, she turns around and heads into the town hall to find Zethrid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the story of how Allura got the scar on her belly is based on a true story of something that happened between my aunt and uncle when they were kids. it was too good not to use, though. thanks so much to everyone for all the lovely comments and things, they're always a joy to read <3 <3


	12. crystals and vines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures Under the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are _officially_ over 100k for this. not bad for a fic that i started on whim as a way to self-indulge in all my favourite tropes ;)

The tunnel under the mountain is wide and clear, lit by a few glowing crystals set into the walls. Shay's light is the primary source of illumination, however; and Hunk confirms Allura's suspicion that this doorway is rarely used by the tribe living in the mountain below. The passage slopes down for several feet before it opens out into a semi-circular chamber with a high ceiling. The floor ahead of them drops away, and Allura steps up to the railing and looks out over the ledge at the delve below them.

They are standing on a gallery near the top of a circular shaft in the rock, and the floor below them bustles with the passage of many people going about their business. Allura scans the walls on either side, and spots several elevation devices: square pods of metal and glass that rise up and down the rockfaces, powered by dwarvish mechanisms - and a touch of magic. Various passageways open out from the shaft: wide, ornate archways at the lowest level; smaller openings higher up the walls, accessed by the elevators and by slender walkways linked by flights of stairs that cling to the stone.

Hunk leads the way across the ledge to one of the elevation devices and slides open the doors. Allura follows him inside, and she is mildly disappointed that the movement requires her to let go of Shiro's hand. She stands beside Shiro at the back of the device, and Hunk and Shay close the doors and activate the mechanism that takes them down to the lowest level.

Allura watches them discreetly as the elevator descends. The two dwarves seem young, as far as she can tell: the horns above their temples are only small nubs, and Hunk's beard is short and neat. They both have the characteristic warm brown skin of the Balmeran dwarf tribes, and their ears are slightly pointed - although not as long and slender as her own. Hunk's hair beneath the headband is dark brown, whilst Shay's is somewhat lighter. She already has several sacred beads braided into the sides - the mark of high status in a dwarf clan.

Unfortunately, in trying to discern the exact colour and pattern of the beads, Allura's interest draws Shay's attention.

"My grandmother is the Matriarch of our tribe," Shay explains. "Ours is one of the oldest families under the mountain."

"You said she would want to meet me because I'm Blessed," Allura says. "Do the Blessed not visit your delves?"

"Not often," Shay says, as the elevation device glides to a halt. "The Blessed rarely come to the mountains. It has been some years since one of your kind visited us."

Allura shares a glance with Shiro as they step out of the elevator's gold doors and onto the main floor of the cavern. She remembers what he said to her before - about Nyhon, and the Temples being built on the lowlands, and the mountains being left to their own devices. Could something similar be happening here, in Balmera province? And yet… Altea supposedly has good relations with the dwarf tribes, and Allura knows for a fact that part of that agreement is to share the Blessings of the Goddess with them. It is the responsibility of the Master Sages to make sure the Blessed are sent wherever they are needed - and that includes the mountains and the dwarf delves. They should not be neglected like this, or left for years between visits by the Blessed.

Allura makes a note of it in her mind. Add it to the list of things she intends to look into once she is Queen.

Shay leads them across the circular floor at the bottom of the shaft, and as they go Allura looks up at the walls rising above them and the inhabitants of the delve coming and going between the archways. The walls are a soft white, lit with glowing crystals in various colours, and between the doors and walkways Allura spots ancient runes carved into the stonework - wards of protection and prosperity, most likely, or traditional prayers of the tribe.

Shiro and Allura draw some attention from the bystanders as they cross the hall and enter another wide passageway that runs deeper into the mountain. But the looks are more curious than suspicious, and plenty of the passers-by give Shay respectful nods or waves as she leads them deeper into the delve.

The corridor in which they find themselves seems to function like a main street or thoroughfare: it is easily twelve feet wide and two storeys tall, brightly lit with crystals and lanterns, and tunnels open up on each side as they make their way down. Some are narrow doorways; others are wide, airy archways opening into public spaces that hum with the pleasant chatter of the crowds. Others look like alleyways between buildings, or entrances to stairwells; and Allura spots a few more of the elevation devices nestled into alcoves in the wall.

Further down from the delve's main shaft, they encounter shop fronts and venders, and the delicious scent of fresh food fills the passageway. Allura glances up and sees vents in the ceiling above, along with other cunning mechanisms that keep the air fresh and the tunnels dry and bright. Dwarves truly are masters of engineering - she thinks it every time she comes to their dwellings. This delve has the look of an ancient structure, well-maintained and modified as the need arises; a place where ancient carvings stand side-by-side with new devices invented by the citizens of the caves.

As they pass under the mountain, Hunk talks animatedly about the history of their tribe and the caverns they call home. The tribe is called Goldrock, and they have lived in the Balmeran mountain range for centuries. From their conversation, Allura understands that Hunk is training to be an engineer, and Shiro takes the initiative and starts asking him about the various devices and mechanisms to be found in the tunnel. With a touch of pride, Allura realises that Shiro must have picked up that particular conversational habit from her. The result is that Hunk starts to describe the cavern's engineering quirks with evident enthusiasm; he pulls Shiro away to the side to look at one of the elevators, and Allura is left standing with Shay. Still, as Shiro goes he turns to give her a cheery wink, and Allura has to look away to hide her smile.

She makes a point to compliment Shay on the beauty and comfort of the delve, and Shay tells her something of the history of the place as they pass by the stalls and come to a side passage that leads off the main corridor. Shay gestures them through into a small cave that resembles a plaza: the ceiling is set with coloured crystals that cast a soft light over the space, and a fountain murmurs gently in the middle of the floor. Strange vines trail up the walls, set with tiny blue flowers that glow like the jewels.

"It is called _balwen_ ," Shay tells her. "It grows near to our sacred crystals, nourished by the quintessence."

"It's beautiful," Allura breathes.

Shay leads them across the plaza, past the fountain, and as they pass near to the magical gems in the ceiling, Allura feels a faint tingle in her markings. The quintessence in the lights is not enough to make her truly glow - it is not as intense or focused as the crystal Shay carried into the cave upstairs, or the wand used by the Galra guard in the village they passed through. But it is enough to make her aware of the energy rippling through her body. If she stood closer to the crystal lights, her marks might well take on their own faint shine.

They reach a set of large double doors in the opposite wall, and as the doors swing open, Shay steps aside to let them inside.

"This is my family's living quarters," she says. "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish."

Allura steps through the doors, Shiro close beside her, and stops on the threshold to take in their surroundings. They are standing in a large chamber, several storeys high, lit by a combination of crystals and lanterns. The chamber seems to serve as a communal space: there are benches and sofas arranged in semi circles, and tables set with many chairs. To one side, rows of bookshelves stand between marble pillars; near to the far wall, there are pools and fountains where children play in the water. The floor in front of the doors is clear, and inlaid with ornate tiles, but at the edges of the great hall rugs and cushions are strewn in the corners to provide a more comfortable and homely feel.

Immediately, it becomes apparent that the 'family' Shay refers to is not simply her immediate relatives, but rather her entire clan. The space is by no means crowded, but plenty of dwarf folks sit on the sofas talking, or stroll between the fountains, or chase after the children who run around playing between the furniture. The cavern is large enough to feel spacious, despite the activity; and yet it still feels cosy and intimate. It reminds Allura of the family chambers back at the Castle, and she smiles at the thought.

"This way," Shay tells them. She takes them across the chamber towards a wide staircase set into the back wall, and they follow her up the stairs until they reach a dwelling carved into the rockface. Shay pushes open the door and leads them into a circular room with a set of curved, glassless windows that overlook the family cavern below.

"Please, wait here," she says. "I will fetch my grandmother."

She gestures towards one of the sofas, and then passes through a doorway into the rest of dwelling.

Allura glances around her as she takes her seat next to Shiro. The Matriarch's dwelling is well-proportioned and decorated with coloured lanterns and tapestries. Bookshelves line the walls, and a curio cabinet stands in an alcove beside the door. The room has the comforting feel of having been thoroughly lived in for many years, and it is easy to relax into the sofa and feel at home. Hunk, however, sits in a chair fidgeting with his fingers and looking decidedly nervous.

"What's the matter with you?" Shiro asks him.

"Shay's grandmother still hasn't really warmed up to me," Hunk confesses.

"Do you think that's because you keep taking her granddaughter out to that cave where people go to--" Shiro says, but Allura cuts him off with a meaningful nudge in the arm before he can finish. He turns to her with an expression of mock-innocence, and she has to hide her laugh in a cough.

Shay returns through the doorway, carrying a tray of tea and pastries which she sets down on the table. Before she can serve it, however, the door opens again and an elderly dwarf woman emerges into the room, walking with a stick. Shay crosses to her side to help her, but the woman waves away Shay's hand and makes her own way to the seating area. She wears a deep red robe, embroidered in white thread with a pattern of flowers and leaves that resembles the _balwen_ plant that grows in the courtyard outside. Her hair jangles with numerous sacred beads, and her horns are long and ornately carved, and tipped with gold leaf.

"This is the Matriarch of our tribe," Shay says. "My grandmother."

Allura and Shiro both stand up, out of respect, and the Matriarch clasps each of their hands in turn as Shay introduces them by name.

"Please, be seated," the Matriarch says. They settle back into the sofa, and Shay pours the tea as the Matriarch sits and watches them.

"So you are travelling to Naxum, then?" she says.

"That's right," Allura replies.

The Matriarch takes a sip of her tea. " _Hime-sama_ is an interesting name," she observes. "My Hon-sun is a little rusty, but doesn't it mean _'Princess'_?"

Allura glances at Shiro, who looks as thrown by the question as she feels. It was always a risk, of course. The fake name worked well in Zyin province, where few people knew its meaning; but they are closer to Nyhon, now, and Hon-sun is more commonly spoken.

"It does mean that, yes," Allura says carefully.

The Matriarch meets her gaze. "You know, you look a lot like your mother."

Allura's mouth drops open, and she feels Shiro tense up beside her.

"Oh, relax, girl," the Matriarch says. "I know exactly who you are."

She puts down her tea on the table, and points towards a wooden chest on the shelf. "Shay. The box, please."

Shay gets up and brings over the chest, and the Matriarch opens it to reveal a milky-white crystal, the size of a lychee, nestled on a bed of black velvet. She pulls it out and holds it up to the light, and Allura spots the glint of dwarvish runes carved into the surface.

"Do you know what this is?" the Matriarch asks.

"It's a truthstone," Allura says.

"It is. These are very rare and powerful objects, not to be used lightly. But these are dark times."

She holds the crystal in the palm of her hand and closes her eyes. The stone begins to glow a soft white as it picks up on the Matriarch's quintessence, and Allura senses the hum of magic in the room. Shiro shifts beside her, and she lays a comforting hand on his knee.

"We mean you no harm," the Matriarch says, and the truthstone pulses bright white and then fades. She is telling the truth.

"This same stone was used generations ago, when our tribe first formed an alliance with the Alteans," the Matriarch goes on. "It was traditional in those times for leaders to hold the stone and pledge loyalty to each other, as a show of faith and trust."

Allura understands the unspoken request. She holds out her hand, and the Matriarch carefully places the truthstone into her palm. She closes her eyes and concentrates. The crystal pulses gently against her skin, and she feels the power within it - the power to detect and amplify her quintessence in such a way that the stone will turn red if she lies. The energy prickles within her marks, and she knows she is faintly glowing in the dim light of the Matriarch's sitting room. She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

"I am Princess Allura of Altea, the last heir to the Altean throne," she says, and the truthstone blinks white like a heartbeat. "This is Captain Shiro of the Royal Guard. He secured my escape from Oriande."

Hunk lets out a quiet _'whaaaattt?'_ and Shay catches her breath, but the Matriarch only nods. She already knew, then. Or suspected enough to put the pieces together. Allura hands back the truthstone, and the Matriarch holds it in front of her once more.

"The Goldrock Tribe is loyal to the Alteans and to the Blessed," she says, and the stone's light carries the truth of her words. "We are with you, Princess Allura. Any help we can offer you will be gladly given. Nothing will be asked in return."

"Thank you," Allura whispers. The relief of it brings tears to her eyes. She had not realised just how much it weighed on her to be alone, without friends or allies, always fearful of betrayal, until she heard the Matriarch's promise of loyalty and help. For weeks, it has just been her and Shiro, leaning entirely on each other. The promise of safety - if only for a little while - eases some of the tension from her heart.

The Matriarch meets her gaze with a gentle smile. She places the truthstone back in the box, and closes it with a click.

"Tell me what happened, child," she says. "Tell me how we can help."

So Allura tells the whole story. It is strange to say the words aloud, because she has not recounted the tale of the attack and her escape since those first days on the run, when she told Shiro in the cave in the forest. It has slept in her heart as a secret, only whispered of with Shiro late at night; and now she sits and sips her tea and tells the Matriarch everything.

At first, it feels odd to speak of her family's downfall so openly. But the truthstone does not lie - the Tribe is trustworthy, and they will need allies if they are to regain Altea, and besides… Allura is tired of secrecy and lies and running. Let others hear the truth. Let them know and understand how much hurt was done to Altea and the Blessed.

She starts from the beginning, and the Matriarch sits there and listens patiently as she describes the day of the attack; King Zarkon's betrayal and Lotor's gloating words; her mother's death and Shiro's appearance in the hallway in her moment of greatest need. As she moves on to tell the story of their escape, Shiro helps her; he fills in details she forgets, and supplies his own perspective on events. He is also able to describe his encounter with Prince Lotor in Garrin.

Allura leaves out their kiss in the village, however. She only mentions the wand and the rounding up of the Blessed. Nor does she detail their argument on the mountain, after Shiro was attacked by the bandits - that is something private between the two of them. The Matriarch does not need to know that much. She skirts around such details, and concludes with the story of how they sheltered in the cave and ran into Shay and Hunk.

That last part causes Hunk to cringe in his chair, and the Matriarch gives him a disapproving look. Despite the seriousness of their position, Allura cannot help but feel amused at the family politics on display. Poor Hunk doesn't deserve it. Perhaps there's something she can do to make it up to him later.

"We have heard some parts of your story before," Shay says as Allura finishes telling it. "But we did not realise how serious things were outside of the mountains."

"They're very serious," Shiro says. "The Galra know what they're doing. They had years to plan this, and they had help from within Altea. Queen Haggar doesn't care how much she harms the land - she only wants power. For herself and for her son."

"And what is your plan, child?" the Matriarch asks.

"I need to reach Olkar," Allura says. "We plan to take the skyboat from Naxum directly to Olkarian. I have close allies in the capitol - people I know I can trust. We will need the help of the Olkari if we are to retake Altea from the Galra."

The Matriarch nods. "We can give you safe passage through our delve to the other side of the mountain. The journey will only take a few hours, thanks to our transportation device. You can leave first thing tomorrow, and you should be able to reach Naxum by noon."

Allura gapes at the revelation. _Tomorrow_. They can be in Naxum _tomorrow_. They have been on the road for weeks, and their destination has always felt far away, and now… _they can be there tomorrow_. The end of their journey is within touching distance; from Naxum, the skyboat ride to Olkarian only takes a day. And then they are safe. Out of Altea, away from their enemies, finally able to breathe easy.

She glances at Shiro, and as their eyes meet she catches the surprise and hope in his expression. And something else, that she can't quite place, that nevertheless clouds his eyes before he steels himself and regains his composure.

"That would be wonderful," Allura says. "Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much it means to me."

"What else can we do to help you?" the Matriarch asks.

"I know this might not be what you're used to," Shiro says. "But we need people to be ready to fight. To resist the Galra, and to support Allura when she returns. King Zarkon was able to take over Altea with help from within. We need to do the same thing."

The Matriarch nods. "I will speak to the Tribe on your behalf, and we will convene with the other Tribes under the mountains. Carefully, of course. But the Balmeran dwarves have always stood with the Blessed, and against the Galra. We will help any way we can."

"Thank you," Allura says. "Your support is a huge relief. We have been betrayed by so many trusted allies…"

"I understand. These are difficult times. But we stand with you, Princess. Until the very end."

She signals Shay to start clearing up the tea things, and Hunk gets up to help out. Allura breathes a sigh of relief. Their journey is almost over. They are so close to safety she can taste it. And not only do they have allies waiting for them in Olkar - they have friends in Altea, too. Powerful allies they can trust and rely on. She has not felt this hopeful about her mission for a long time.

"I will not ask you to perform any Rituals," the Matriarch goes on. "I know that you must be tired from the road. However, there are a few in our Tribe who are unwell, if you would be able to offer some small measure of healing?"

"It would be my honour to help them, Matriarch."

"Very well." The old lady stands up, leaning on her stick, and points at Hunk.

"You may sleep in our guest quarters for the night," she says. "Hunk will take you now. Shay will show you to the infirmary when you are ready. We will not ask you for much, but there are some there whom we cannot heal ourselves."

"It's quite alright," Allura says. "It is the duty of the Blessed to help those in need."

She stands up, and Shiro follows suit. They clasp the Matriarch's hands once again.

"You are safe here, I promise," she says. "Tonight, you will dine with the family, as our honoured guests. Tomorrow, we will help you on your way."

The Matriarch retreats back through the door into her private quarters, Shay following close behind her with the tray, and Hunk visibly sags with relief. He beckons Shiro and Allura towards the main door and the stairway outside.

They follow Hunk back down the stairs to the central chamber and through an archway that takes them down a short passage. They come out into the guest quarters: a round room with a series of alcoves set into the walls, partitioned off with loose drapes. The alcoves contain sleeping areas, each lit with their own lamps and decked out with beds and seats and pillows.

"So uh, you can have a room with two beds or…" Hunk begins.

"One bed," Allura says, at exactly the same time that Shiro _also_ says "one bed". She turns in surprise, meets his gaze, notes the blush in his cheeks that matches her own, and looks hastily away again. Hunk stares between the two of them with a quizzical look on his face, and then leads them to one of the alcoves and pulls back the curtain.

"You can leave your things here," he says. "There's washrooms just down the hall." He points in the general direction. "Shay will be back in a bit to show you where the infirmary is."

He hurries off - possibly to find Shay himself - and leaves them to it. Allura gratefully shrugs off her knapsack and cloak and inspects the small sleeping area. The bed feels comfortable and soft; there is a small dressing table and a chest containing spare blankets and pillows. The only downside is that the bed is rather short - not a problem for her, but a potential source of discomfort for Shiro. He stands there looking at it, his head on one side.

"Serves you right for being so tall," she tells him.

He gives her a flat look. "Thanks for the sympathy."

"You're welcome," she says, as sweetly as she can manage, and it earns her a resigned smile. The expression is so endearing that as she heads out of the alcove to go and freshen up, she cannot resist the temptation to reach out and flick Shiro's nose with her finger. She leaves him looking adorably annoyed, and heads to the washrooms.

By the time she gets back, Hunk and Shay have returned, and she leaves Shiro in Hunk's capable hands whilst she follows Shay out of the family living quarters and back into the central passageway. The infirmary is in a deeper part of the delve, away from the bustle and noise of the upper levels, and Allura lets Shay guide her into a complex of rooms and corridors carved out of the rock in neat, spacious rows.

True to the Matriarch's word, Shay does not ask Allura to perform any great acts of healing. But there are a few poor souls in the infirmary suffering from pain and stubborn injuries, and Allura finds herself wanting to help as much as possible. Shay takes her to a ward where the most sickly patients lie resting in their beds, tended to by the nurses and physicians of the Tribe, and as Allura is introduced to them they ask only for relief from their pain.

A pang of guilt blossoms uncomfortably in her chest. They have been without the healing gifts of the Blessed for so long that they hardly ask her for anything.

"I will do everything I can," she says to them, and sets to work.

But healing beneath the mountains is hard, and as she makes her way from patient to patient Allura begins to understand why so many of the Blessed are reluctant to visit the delves. Even the most simple of healing alchemies requires more effort and focus than it does on the lowlands, where she can easily tap into the power of the ley lines. Her spells are not as forceful or effective as she would like them to be, and she quickly becomes frustrated.

"This is difficult, so far from the ley lines," she says to Shay, as they pause to rest. "It is hard to draw enough quintessence."

"We have some crystals you can try?" Shay offers. She crosses the room to a store cupboard, and pulls out an ornate box. Allura crosses to her side and peers inside as Shay opens the lid. Rows of crystals sit in neat compartments, and as Allura brushes her fingers over them she senses the energy thrumming gently within them.

"You store quintessence in these?" she asks. "How?"

Because these are not _Qalbayus_ fragments. And the energy within them is not simply passive but… alive and moving, pulsing like gentle heartbeats. She has never felt anything like it.

"These stones come from deep within the mountains," Shay says. "They have always had these qualities. And we are able to nurture them and help them grow."

Allura tries to understand it, as they continue to see each patient in turn. The crystals feel like… ley lines, curled up into a loop and trapped inside a stone. She reaches within them and feels the quintessence pour into her; and suddenly her alchemy is easy and effortless once more.

"You need only do enough to ease their pain," Shay assures her, but with the crystals in her hands Allura knows she can do much more.

"Nonsense," she says. "Let me help as much as I can."

They move through the infirmary, greeting patients in turn and performing the simple spells that will heal their sickness and injuries. This is the work that Allura trained for, back in Oriande; the true gift of the Blessed. With the dwarven crystals in her hands, she is able to bring health and relief to many of the patients. The minutes tick by into hours without her realising it. The work absorbs her fully, and by the time they are done she feels alive and at peace, despite her alchemical exertions.

Eventually, a messenger arrives in the infirmary to inform Shay that dinner will soon be served, and Allura cleans up in the washroom and heads back to the family quarters with Shay.

They arrive to find the chamber full of people. Several tables and benches have been laid out in a rough circle, and a crowd of Shay's family members mill around talking and laughing and finding their seats. The scent of spiced meats and vegetables wafts through the hall, and Allura spots helpers bringing out the serving trays. By the looks of things, there are no servants: family members serve the food and set the tables themselves, in between talking and catching up with each other. It is a true reflection of how the dwarf tribes live that even for a formal dinner with a royal guest, the atmosphere is relaxed and familial, and everyone assists however they can without thinking themselves too important to help out.

Allura scans the room for Shiro, and spots him easily in the crowd. He towers above the dwarves, a study in long legs and broad shoulders, and Allura finds herself captivated by the sight of him. He stands there with one hand on his hip, chatting amiably to Hunk, wisps of white hair falling out of his topknot and hanging over his forehead, and Allura smiles.

"He is rather handsome," Shay says beside her. "For a human, at least."

"What?" Allura says, startled out of her reverie, but before she can respond, Shiro looks up and meets her gaze. He grins, and heads straight towards her through the crowd, and Allura tries to ignore Shay's knowing smirk and arrange her face into a more neutral expression. She fails, miserably, because Shiro keeps smiling at her as if she's the only person in the room. She is so distracted by the warmth that blossoms in her heart that she almost doesn't notice Hunk coming up behind him.

"Hey, Princess Allura, good to see you again," he says, radiating nervousness. "The Matriarch saved a seat for you at the head table."

He points towards the far end of the hall, where the Matriarch is already seated at one of the tables. Allura resists the urge to point out that with the tables configured in a circle, no one is really at the 'head' of the arrangement - but the thought is oddly pleasing, nonetheless.

"And Shiro can sit--" Hunk goes on.

"Next to me," Allura finishes for him. She says it with all the decisive self-assurance she can muster, and the Princess tone works: Hunk looks startled, but does not argue.

"Alright," he stammers. "I guess we can make room."

Allura smiles at Shiro, who looks decidedly pleased with proceedings, but says nothing. Shay gives a cough that might be covering a laugh, but Allura very pointedly ignores it. She loops her arm with Shiro's and follows Hunk to the head table.

The Matriarch makes no objection to Shiro joining them - if anything, she seems to have expected it. With Allura now seated, the meal can begin, and as they eat Allura gets the chance to talk to the Matriarch once again. Shiro sits on her other side, occasionally leaning over to talk to her or ask if she needs anything. Sometimes, he contributes to her conversation with the Matriarch; at other times, he turns to Shay and talks with her about the delve and the Tribe.

The Matriarch is a font of information and obscure knowledge, and Allura passes a very pleasant meal listening to her stories about the dwarf colonies under the mountains. They are also able to converse more about the problems in Altea, and the Matriarch gives Allura her assurance that she will speak to the other clans.

"I know we are asking a lot," Allura says. "But we won't be able to cleanse Altea and retake the kingdom without help."

"We understand," the Matriarch says. "I will call a council of the Tribes to discuss the matter in detail. We have always been loyal to the Blessed."

"Thank you," Allura says. "I mean it. I can't tell you how grateful we are to find help along the way."

"There is no need to thank us," she says. "It is our duty to help Altea, as the Blessed have helped us. Here. You should take this with you, as well."

She reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a small velvet pouch, which she presses into Allura's hands. Allura opens it cautiously, and sees the familiar glint of a crystal carved with dwarvish runes.

"The truthstone?" she asks. "I can't possibly take this."

"You will need it," the Matriarch says. "These are dark times. If you are right, and enemies lurk everywhere, then you will need this stone to determine whom you can trust."

Allura shakes her head. "This is too generous. I can't, really…"

But the Matriarch pushes the stone gently into her hands. "Keep it. Use it wisely, whilst you have need of it. Then, return it to use when Altea is free."

"I will. Thank you."

She tucks the precious gem into her pocket for safekeeping. Despite her reluctance to accept it, she has to admit that it is a valuable gift - one that will allow her to plan her return to Altea with confidence, knowing exactly who she can trust and rely on.

The meal winds down into tea and warm sweets, and at first Allura worries that the party will stretch on all night. But the Matriarch is an excellent host, and she intervenes to draw the evening to a close.

"Our guests have a long journey ahead of them," she announces. "We must not keep them from their rest."

And so the meal is cleared away; the dishes carried out, the tables wiped clean, the chairs pushed back into their stacks against the walls. Allura and Shiro are shooed away towards the sleeping quarters, and a young dwarvish child is sent to the kitchens to fetch them warm milk and honey.

Which is how they find themselves sitting on the steps of their sleeping alcove, propped up on pillows and drinking warm milk. The dwarves apparently favour a very communal mode of living: several of the other sleeping nooks are already occupied, and people bustle past the central space taking children to bed or visiting the bathing area down the passage. The chamber between the sleeping alcoves has its own small fountain, and a cluster of glowing crystals set into the ceiling; more of the _balwen_ vine grows here, too, and the flowers glimmer blue in the low light.

Allura sits and cradles her mug between her hands and watches the water trickle over the rocks, and listens to the sounds of dwarves moving around in the delve. The noise gradually drops as people settle in for the night, but the steady hum of people living their lives still surrounds them like a comforting blanket.

"It's hard to believe we'll be in Naxum tomorrow," she says. "We've spent so long on the road, and now it's within reach."

"We're almost there," Shiro agrees. "We're almost _safe_."

She can barely comprehend it. Even hearing Shiro say the words aloud doesn't make it sink in. After weeks of struggle and hardship; weeks of trekking through wilderness, sleeping rough, watching their backs the whole way… they will reach Naxum tomorrow. And from Naxum, it is only a day's ride on the skyboat to Olkarian, the capitol of Olkar. By this time tomorrow, if all goes well, they will be beyond the borders of Altea, on their way to Olkar - to friends and allies, and people they can trust.

Allura plays with the empty mug in her hands. She should feel happy and relieved - and she does, on some level. But there is some small part of her that sees the ending of their journey looming, and wonders what will happen between her and Shiro once they reach the Altean Embassy in Olkarian. She won't need him as her guard or her guide, then. They will not sleep next to each other, just the two of them against the world.

She should tell him what she wants from him. Now, while she still has a chance. But she glances over at him and words fail her. She doesn't even know where to begin.

"I'm glad you were with me," she says, for want of anything better to say. "I wouldn't have made it without you."

He looks over at her and smiles, his expression soft.

"I wouldn't have made it without you, either," he says. "You saved my life, remember?"

"Well, you won't let me forget it."

"Why should I?" He quirks an eyebrow at her, and Allura lapses into silence as she bites back her smile. She toys with her mug, before forcing herself to put it down on the step.

"I'm glad that… it was _you_ who rescued me," she says. She turns slightly to face Shiro, and he leans back on his hands and regards her curiously.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean that, uh… I just. Well." Goddess curse her, she doesn't know what she's trying to say. "I always wanted to get to know you better, back in Oriande," she manages.

"Me? Why?" Shiro asks her.

She takes in the warmth of his gaze and the casual set of his shoulders as he watches her, and… she can't do it. She doesn't know how to tell him that she felt drawn to him, even back at the Castle where she knew nothing about him beyond his name.

"I don't know," she says. "You just always seemed. Interesting. I suppose."

She curses herself again, in the privacy of her own head. 'You seemed _interesting'_? _Interesting_? Of all the stupid things to say… And it doesn't help that Shiro looks at her rather quizzically when she says it, as if he doesn't understand what she's getting at. Not that she can blame him. She's floundering. She looks away, at the crystals and the vines on the walls, so that Shiro won't see her grimace.

It should not be this hard to tell him that he is important to her; that he matters to her and she wants to keep him beside her as long as she can. But if she cannot even get _those_ words out, how can she ever hope to talk to him about her true feelings? Maybe she should just leave it, and wait until they are safe and secure outside the country, and _then_ worry about pouring her heart out.

It doesn't help that all of her courtships thus far have been very formal affairs. Back in Oriande, there were established ways to tell someone you were interested. You wrote their name on your fan, or asked them to dance, or invited them for tea in the Blue Garden. But out here… it's just her and Shiro, and she is drowning in the feelings she can't put into words.

She shouldn't be doing this, anyway. It's cruel on both of them. It's not like it can _last_ : she is not the headstrong youngest child of a royal dynasty, marrying her handmaiden because no one expects anything else of her. She is the Queen in waiting, protector of Altea; a Blessed servant of the Goddess, sworn to put her kingdom's needs above her own. What could she have with Shiro, really? Stolen moments, hidden away like a shameful secret? Always suffering through everyone's disapproval and judgement; always fearing that she had somehow let everyone down…

She turns back to Shiro where he sits beside her: still leaning back on his hands, legs kicked out in front of him, a warm smile lighting up his face. And some selfless, reckless part of her heart whispers that he would be worth it.

"So did I live up to expectations?" he asks her.

"What?" she says, momentarily confused.

"Well, you know me a lot better now," he says. He sits up and shifts a little closer to her on their makeshift seat. "So did I live up to expectations? Or am I a huge disappointment?"

He grins as he says it - that same cheeky, irreverent grin that he seems to save just for her.

"Of course not," she says. "You're not disappointing at all."

"That's good to know."

"How about me?" she asks, feeling daring. "You know me a lot better now, too."

The grin fades from his face, and he gives her a deadly serious look.

"Oh, yeah, you're just… a massive let-down," he says. "Really disappointing up close."

"What!?" she exclaims.

"You're not princess-y at all," he goes on. "You're actually kind of annoying."

His expression is so stern that it takes her a moment to realise that he is winding her up. She shoves him in the arm, and he bursts out laughing.

"I'm not annoying!" she protests.

"Yes you are," Shiro chuckles. "You're always tormenting me with your constant teasing."

"I don't!" she exclaims, but his laugh is infectious, and she knows he's just exaggerating.

"You're bossy, and stubborn…" he goes on.

"You take that back!"

"And you snore. Really loudly."

"I don't!" She tries to put her hand over his mouth, but he grabs it and holds it away from his face.

"Shut your mouth!" Allura tells him.

"Make me," he says. He keeps hold of her hand and grins down at her, and it melts right through her stern look and her attempts to seem scandalised.

"You don't think I'm annoying," she declares. Their fingers are still entwined together, and somehow Shiro's other hand is on her waist and her fingers are curled into his shirt, but she doesn't remember how it happened and she doesn't care.

"Are you sure about that?" he asks, still laughing.

"Well I was! And then you started listing all my character flaws!" She collapses into helpless giggles, and her forehead comes to rest against Shiro's shoulder, but she cannot bring herself to move.

"I wouldn't say flaws," Shiro chuckles. "More like 'quirks'."

She looks up at him - so close she can feel the warmth of his body and the gentle ripple of his quintessence.

"Why are you being so mean?"

"I'm sorry," he says, and the warm smile returns to his face. "I didn't mean it. I don't think you're annoying at all."

"Then what _do_ you think of me?" she asks.

Shiro gazes at her softly, and beneath the amusement that sparkles in his eyes she senses something deep and sincere that underlies every word and glance. But right now, he looks like he doesn't know what to say.

They are sitting so close, so tangled up together, that she could lean up and kiss him if she wanted to. And Goddess above, but she _really_ wants to. But she is also acutely aware of their position: sitting in an alcove with only gauzy drapes to hide them from prying eyes, with people sleeping in the rooms around them, and others occasionally walking across the communal space.

As if to reinforce this point, a dwarvish woman bustles up to them with a tray, asking to collect their empty mugs. Allura drops Shiro's hand and scoots away from him to pick up the cups, and after reassuring the woman that they don't need anything else, they are fine, really, thank you for everything, they find themselves sitting once more in silence. Allura risks a glance at Shiro, who meets her gaze and then looks away and clears his throat. He rubs the back of his neck and watches the lady carry out the tray.

"I'm starting to understand why these people have a kissing cave," he says wryly. "There's not a lot of privacy in this place."

And maybe it's just because he has spent the whole day making her blush, but Allura feels suddenly bold.

"You know it's not too late to sneak out, if you feel like going back there," she says. She doesn't intend him to take it seriously - after all, he suggested it as a joke earlier, to amuse her in the cave, so why can't she joke about it too? He'll probably just laugh and roll his eyes, but then at least she can nudge his shoulder and maybe move closer to him and they can sit with their knees together, sharing jokes until they feel like falling asleep.

But Shiro doesn't laugh. He looks at her with that familiar fire in his eyes, his brows slightly creased, bottom lip caught in his teeth - as if he is coming to a decision.

He stands up, and holds out a hand to her.

"Come on," he says. A half-smile plays on his lips and his eyes burn into hers, and Allura suddenly cannot breathe. She is vaguely aware that she is gaping at him with her mouth open, but she is too stunned to care.

She puts her hand in his, whilst she still feels recklessly brave, and lets Shiro pull her upright. His smile grows wider, and he tugs her towards the passageway that leads out into the central chamber. She follows him, heart dancing wildly in her chest, hands shaking, hardly daring to believe that this is real. Shiro looks over his shoulder at her and smiles - and he looks like he can hardly believe it, either.

Allura follows him out into the central hall, where they spot a few people moving around. Shiro pulls her hastily behind some of the bookshelves, and Allura smothers a laugh in her hand as the creep along the row of shelves.

"I feel like we're doing something wrong," she says, and Shiro's shoulders shake with silent mirth. He gestures her to be quiet, and she huddles up close to him so she can keep her voice low.

"This reminds me of sneaking out of my room in the Castle when I was a child," she whispers.

"I didn't know you were such a rebel." He grins at her, clearly delighted, and her whole body feels warm.

They creep across another open space, but the sound of footsteps sends them scurrying behind the next row of shelves, laughing breathlessly and trying not to make any noise. In the dim space behind the books, it is easy to forget that this is forbidden; that they should not be standing so close, fingers still hooked together, anchored to each other in the dark as they wait for the footsteps to fade.

"Where's the door?" Shiro mutters.

"Do you even remember the way?" Allura asks in a whisper.

"What, you don't trust me?" Shiro asks. He drops her fingers, but only so that he can slide his hand onto her waist.

"Of course I do," she says.

His other hand settles on her hip, and Allura lets her hands rest on his chest. His heart beats under her palm, and it feels as wild and untamed as her own racing pulse.

"When have I ever gotten us lost?" he says. He grins at her, and warmth blossoms in her core.

"I said I trust you!" she laughs.

She pushes on his chest - just lightly, enough to tease him but not enough to force him away. This close, she can sense his quintessence as it moves through his body. His hands tighten on her waist, and her marks tingle, and she feels a tell-tale stir in the base of her spine. Their energies are aligning; a harmony born of proximity and intimacy. And she knows, if he kisses her now - if he pushes her up against the bookshelf and claims her lips with his own - that when she pulls away to draw breath she will see his marks glowing like starlight on his cheeks. She can feel it - the reality of how much he wants her - even if he knows he should not.

His physical closeness stirs her quintessence and makes her extra sensitive, so that she can suddenly feel everything in the room - the crystals in their alcoves, the living shape of people as they move around the delve - even the faint trace of _balwen_ vines clinging to the walls. And something else, as well: a subtle ripple of energy, coming from the stone around her. It rises and falls in gentle waves, as if the heart of the mountain beats beneath her feet.

Shiro opens his mouth to say something, but she presses a finger to his lips. He catches her frown, and his own grin fades away. He looks at her with a question in his eyes.

"Can't you feel that?" she asks. "There's something… Don't you sense it?"

He meets her curious gaze, and very pointedly kisses the finger she is still holding against his mouth. She blushes and pulls her hand away.

"What's going on?" he whispers.

"I feel something," she says. "It feels like alchemy."

"There's another Blessed here?"

"I don't… I don't think so?" She glances around at the empty hall, lit only by the crystals strung up near the ceiling. When she concentrates, she can sense the gentle pull of quintessence, like a string wrapped around her heart, calling her onwards.

"Should we find out what it is?" Shiro asks.

Allura nods, absently. She takes Shiro's hand, and he follows her obediently across the chamber floor as she feels her way towards the source of the energy. She does not tell him that his quintessence helps her sense whatever alchemy is being performed in this place; she can worry about that later. Right now, she needs to find out if a Ritual is being performed in the delve, and how.

She lets instinct guide her across the chamber towards a small archway in the far wall, and down a corridor lit with gold-hued crystals set high in the walls. The passage comes out onto a gallery that overlooks a circular cavern, its ceiling hung with coloured crystals strung in long lines between the stalactites. _Balwen_ vines climb up every wall in a thick carpet of leaves and sparkling petals, and the air is fresh and warm and scented with flowers and incense.

Allura steps up to the balcony rail, Shiro at her side, and looks down onto the floor of the cavern. An alchemy circle is marked out onto the rock - but it is unlike anything Allura has ever used in all her years of practice. The symbols are different; the shapes are arranged in different configurations. Small crystals sit in the nodes around the circles edge, flickering with quintessence.

There are no Blessed in the Ritual, however. Allura can recognise another alchemist by the feel of their quintessence - but she is the only alchemist in this room. And yet Balmeran dwarves stand around the circle at key points, between or behind the crystals, and they press their hands to the ground in a manner reminiscent of Allura's ritual prayers. The stone beneath their hands glows gently white, and the Ritual circle lights up at their feet.

The thrum of power intensifies, and as her marks begin to glow Allura closes her eyes and feels out the energy flow and tries to discern its purpose. Healing, rejuvenating… a Rite for restoring and nurturing the delve, protecting its inhabitants, shielding them from sickness or weariness. Tears prick her eyes in response to the wave of healing quintessence, and she smiles.

"What's going on?" Shiro asks.

"This is alchemy performed without one of the Blessed," Allura whispers to him. She gestures at the circle, and the glowing crystals.

"I have read about this in books, but I've never seen it in practice," she goes on. "I thought it was a lost art."

"They did say the Blessed rarely come here," Shiro points out. "Maybe they had to adapt."

"But look! The circle is different to a normal ritual, see? The nodes are offset against the lines of power… and the crystals! What are the crystals for? Do they store quintessence?"

"Do you want to go down there and ask them?" Shiro says. He tilts his head towards a flight of stairs that leads off the gallery and down the side of the cavern to the floor below.

Allura catches his expression, and hesitates. What she _wants_ to do is push him into the nearest empty cave and kiss him senseless. But… this is why she is here. She has a duty to Altea, still, and the alchemy of the dwarves might be vital to the kingdom's future. Any information she can gather will be invaluable in the months and years to come.

But still. _Still_. She finds herself torn between the lure of the Ritual below - and her own curiosity over how this strange new alchemy works - and the far more fundamental pull of Shiro, and the way he smiles at her. Can't she be selfish? For once?

"We don't have to," she says. "I can ask Shay later…"

Her eyes stray back to the glowing circle marked out on the rocks. There are symbols down there she does not recognise; tools and techniques she has only heard about in academic theses. She should go and ask, whilst the dwarves are here. She spots Shay at one edge of the circle - the Matriarch at the other. They surely would not begrudge her an explanation of their Rites, as one of the Blessed, and she can just quickly get some answers and then go and get… something else.

"Are you sure?" Shiro says. "This looks like it might be useful. The Galra did round up a lot of the Blessed."

"It would be!" she says. "The crystals might be the same as the ones I used in the infirmary. And you see that double line of markings, there? That's dwarvish runes in an alchemy circle! I could use this in place of sending the Blessed everywhere. And it works in the mountains, too! This could even help Nyhon…"

She has to ask. Even if she doesn't linger. Her duty compels her to at least try.

"We should ask about it," Shiro says. "This seems important."

His expression is earnest and open; if he is disappointed, he doesn't show it. She wonders if his own sense of duty is also at work here. But they do not have to spend _all night_ in this cavern. Once she has the answers she needs, they have the rest of the evening to themselves.

"It won't take long," she says apologetically. "I can just look at some of the crystals and maybe ask about how they draw the circle. And what the symbols mean. And then we can do… something else."

She flexes her hands and glances back over the railing at the Ritual now winding to a close below. Truth be told, as much as she wants to be alone with Shiro, the dwarven alchemy looks fascinating, and the eager intellectual side of her is itching to get down to the cavern floor and find out more about it. She looks to Shiro for his reaction, and he laughs softly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says. He smiles at her, and his eyes are so full of fond affection that she catches her breath. He lays a hand alongside her head and gently pulls her towards him, so that he can plant a lingering kiss on her temple. Her fingers curl instinctively into his shirt, and she feels the shape of his quintessence once again, all warm and vibrant and soft around the edges. He pulls back and looks at her.

"Come on," he says. "Before you melt with excitement."

She beams at him, because the excitement has already overtaken her. She takes his hand and pulls him towards the stairs that lead down into the cavern.

As they reach the bottom of the stairway, the ritual draws to a close. Shay stands up, and spots Allura on the other side of the circle from her. Her eyes light up in surprise, but a huge smile spreads across her face as she hurries across the chamber to greet Allura.

"Princess!" she says. "We did not expect to see you at our Rituals. This is such an unexpected honour."

"I'm so sorry for intruding," Allura says. "But I felt the alchemy from upstairs, and I was just curious to know what you were doing. And how."

"We did not think a simple ceremony such as this would be of interest to you," Shay says shyly. "This is not the sort of alchemy you practise in Oriande, I'm sure."

"It's not," Allura admits. "But that's what makes it so fascinating! I have never seen alchemy performed without one of the Blessed present. If it's not too much trouble… could you explain to me how it works?"

Shay's eyes light up. "Of course. It would be an honour, Princess."

She leads Allura across the chamber, and Shiro hangs back as the Matriarch approaches Allura and greets her warmly. The other dwarves involved in the ceremony also stand to clasp Allura's hand and welcome her to their Ritual, and before long Allura is surrounded by friendly faces eager to answer all her questions.

"All living beings have quintessence within them," Shay explains. "Our ceremonies simply allow us to tap into that energy and use it to perform very simple alchemy. Nothing elaborate, of course. Just wards and rituals that help to nurture our delve."

She ushers Allura over to a low desk near the back wall, and someone pulls out the chair and urges Allura to sit down. The Matriarch fetches a book from a shelf behind her, and sets it down on the desk to show Allura diagrams of alchemy circles - ancient designs modified by countless generations of dwarves, improvising and innovating new ways of performing the sacred Rites.

Shay does not need much encouragement to talk about dwarven alchemy, and Allura soon finds herself enthralled by the explanations for how everything works. The circles, it turns out, are designed to allow even an non-alchemist to channel their own natural energy into the symbols. The crystals - as she suspected - are similar to the ones they used earlier in the infirmary, and they serve as a substitute for ley lines, providing a source of extra power that can be transmuted and changed according to the ritual's requirements. The Matriarch pulls down more books and scrolls and diagrams; someone brings over a sample of the crystals, and Allura runs them through her hands and feels the different types of energy hidden within them.

She glances over at Shiro as Shay turns away to find another book to show her. He is sitting and talking with Hunk on the opposite side of the chamber, and Allura wonders if Hunk has been here all along, or if he came to see Shay after the Ritual and found them all deep in conversation.

Shiro looks up and catches her gaze, and Allura wonders if he is annoyed at her for the interruption of… whatever it was they were about to do. But he looks at her with no trace of irritation in his countenance. He smiles at her - warm and soft and open - and there is something like admiration in his eyes.

 _Soon_. She can get out of here soon, and then she can take Shiro anywhere she pleases. Just… a few more minutes.

But as much as she wants to wrap things up and escape the conversation, the description of dwarven alchemy is so fascinating that she finds herself utterly absorbed. And the residents of the delve are so eager to share their knowledge with her that she can hardly bring herself to ask them to stop. Shay talks her through the subtle variations in the crystals; one of her friends describes the alterations to the size and configuration of the alchemy circle and how it can be used to adapt the Rites to the delve's needs. More books come down from the shelves; boxes of glowing gems are brought out from storage to show to her.

Allura loses track of time as they talk. She tries to remember everything - if not all the details, then at least the concepts and principles behind this mysterious mountain alchemy. As the discussion flows on, her mind blossoms with possibilities. These ceremonies work even in areas where ley lines are weak - they could easily be adapted for use in the highlands of Nyhon. They might even work to counteract Queen Haggar's corruption of the Temples. And because they do not involve any of the Blessed, the Rites would likely pass undetected by the Galran Druids. Perhaps the knowledge could be circulated in secret, whilst the Galra occupation lasts. Allura lets herself imagine small bands of Altean citizens, creeping into abandoned stone circles at night to perform Rituals of Cleansing, using mountain alchemy and magical crystals smuggled out from Balmera province…

Her eyes stray to Shiro every now and then, as the lanterns burn low and the books pile up on the desk. She longs to be alone with him - a need so intense it is like a physical ache in her heart. But there is always more to say, and more to discuss, and she is reluctant to offend the dwarf tribe by cutting short the discussion. Especially for such a selfish reason. They have honoured her with their insights into their sacred practices; the least she can do is listen attentively and learn as much as she can, in the hopes that it will help Altea in the long run.

At some point, she glances over and finds that Shiro is no longer sitting in the cavern. He must have got up and left - Hunk is also absent, which suggests they might have left together. It is hard to judge the flow of time underground, but she suspects that the hour is late. Tiredness starts to drag at her limbs and slow her thoughts.

Shay notices her weariness, despite her efforts to politely conceal it.

"You should rest," she says. "I hope that we have been able to give you some insight into our ways?"

"You have, thank you," Allura says. "This has been fascinating. It may even be the key to saving Altea someday."

Shay beams at her, clearly overjoyed.

"We would be honoured to be able to serve Altea in this way," she says, and a murmur of agreement goes up from the other dwarves.

In the end, Shay calls the impromptu lesson to a close and ushers everyone out of the cavern to go to bed. She climbs the stairs beside Allura and leads her back out into the central chamber, where she presses a glowing crystal into her hand to help light her way to bed.

"I hope you sleep well, Princess," she says. "I am sorry for keeping you up so late."

"Not at all," Allura says. "It was my choice. Thank you for everything you have taught me tonight."

She leaves Shay smiling happily in the main hall, and makes her way through the dimly lit cavern towards the guest sleeping area. The curtains over the alcoves are all closed, and the sounds of soft breathing mingle with the gentle trickle of the fountain in the room's centre. Allura pushes open the curtains to her own bedroom and steps inside.

Shiro is already asleep in the bed, lying flat on his back with one arm crooked above his head and his hair splayed out on the pillow. The sight of him sends Allura tumbling into a mess of conflicting emotions, chief of which is regret.

The evening could have turned out very differently. Exactly what Shiro intended to do with her in the cave, if they ever made it that far, is still very much open to her own feverish speculation. But the recollection of his hands on her waist and the fire in his eyes sends shivers down her spine. She remembers the way his quintessence felt as it aligned with hers, and how sure and certain she felt that he wanted her the same way she wanted him.

But she ditched him. There's no getting around it. What must he think of her now? She backed out and took the first excuse to run off and do something else, and she knows exactly how that looks. It looks like she thought better of it, and found a way to get out of it whilst preserving her dignity. Even if he didn't let any annoyance or disappointment show… he must feel it, surely? Maybe he will resent her for it come morning.

But what if he _doesn't_? What if he took it all so calmly because _he_ thought better of it, and was relieved that it didn't happen?

Allura chews her lip as she takes off her boots and belt and prepares for bed. Perhaps it is all the Goddess's way of telling her that their union is not meant to be - Shiro is not meant to be hers, and she is not meant to be his. Duty and responsibility will always pull them apart. Maybe it is better in the long run if nothing happens between them - it would hurt too much to have him and then lose him. Maybe the Goddess intervened to spare her that pain.

But she still wants him, deep down in her reckless, foolish heart.

She climbs into the bed as quietly as possible, but as she settles beneath the covers Shiro rolls over as if he has sensed her presence, even in his sleep. He wraps his arm around her and hugs her close to his body, and Allura settles against him. The ache in her heart eases, and she runs her fingers through his hair.

His eyes flutter open, and he says something to her in Hon-sun. She smiles, even though she doesn't understand it, and brushes his hair away from his forehead.

"Sorry I came back so late," she whispers.

He mumbles something else that she doesn't understand, and she realises he is still half-asleep, and she probably won't get any Altean out of him.

"Did you miss me?" she asks, although she's not sure why.

He nods, and his arm tightens around her as his eyes drift closed again, and Allura lets herself melt into his embrace. She leans up and kisses his cheek, and he smiles faintly, before his breathing evens out and he falls back into sleep.

"I wish I had kissed you in the cave," she whispers - because it is dark and Shiro is sleeping and he will not hear her or remember her words. She tucks her head into his chest and listens to his heart beating.

"I wish there was a way for us to be together." She breathes it against his skin like a prayer, as if there is some blessed magic to be found in the space between their beating hearts. She knows that it is selfish - that it is not something she should ask the Goddess for. Not in dire times such as these, when her kingdom needs her more than ever.

But she has never wanted anyone the way she wants Shiro. And all she can do is hope that whatever divine intervention brought him into her life in the first place… it also lets her hold onto him for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's it called when you get cock-blocked by the plot? plot-blocked?
> 
> anyway, you might have noticed that this chapter has a cute illustration in it. this is cos my friend/partner-in-crime Lu (aka [millennium-queen](http://millennium-queen.tumblr.com/) wanted to draw some art for this chapter, and since the fic just broke 100k i thought this was a nice way to celebrate the milestone. also cos Lu's a babe who's always there to listen to me scream about eye glows and hand kinks. think of it as an extra surprise bonus for this chapter.
> 
> i really can't believe how far i got with this. it's now officially the longest fic i've ever written, and there's still a ways to go with these two hopeless dorks. i love them, though.


	13. all the wildflowers of the mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onwards, to Naxum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after a bit of a new-season-induced break, i return! i'm still really excited about this fic and having loads of fun with it, so rest assured that no matter what happens Over There In Canon, i will be here chugging along posting updates :D

The next morning, Shiro and Allura take an early breakfast with Shay and the Matriarch - and Hunk, who is allowed to join them on sufferance and spends much of the meal glancing nervously between Shay and her grandmother. Between the bustle and busyness of the delve, and their preparations to depart, there is neither time nor privacy to talk about their excursion the night before.

Shiro has plenty of time to think about it, though. Allura is far more in demand than he is, and many of the dwarves want to bid her farewell or pledge their loyalty to the crown. Shiro finds himself standing off to one side in the cavern below the Matriarch's dwelling, watching a crowd of admirers gather around Allura as she prepares to depart, and mulling over the fact that he very nearly took the last living heir to the Altean throne out to a dwarven hook-up cave.

He's still having difficulty wrapping his head around that fact.

It's probably a good thing that nothing came of it. It was the culmination of several bad choices on his part, and if he had _actually_ taken her back to the cavern… he huffs out a breath and pokes at the floor with the toe of his boot. What was he thinking?

He shouldn't be doing any of this. Enjoying her company is one thing, but the teasing and the flirting and the jokes about spending a romantic evening in a cave… He chews his lip. He is chasing something that will always be out of his reach; a desire that will always evade him in the end. Now more than ever, with their destination only a day or so away - _now_ would be the time to stop and pull back. Guard his heart against devastation. Leave well enough alone.

But he can't help it. Something changed, when the bandits attacked him and Allura came rushing back to save him. Well, no, that's not exactly true - things changed when she got upset and he poured his heart out to her like a lovestruck fool. He _knows_ he should try to resist her; or at the very least, try not to make it too obvious that he is hopelessly in love with her. But… he almost died, and he accidentally called her _'marksglow'_ , and she keeps looking at him like she wants him to say it again and he just… he doesn't care anymore. What does it matter if she knows his true feelings? It's better than her thinking he's indifferent.

And it doesn't help that every time he teases her or takes her hand or smiles at her, she gets this _look_ in her eyes that's just… he's not sure exactly what it means, but it fills his veins with fire every time. He says something cheeky - something he _really_ shouldn't say to the Queen-in-waiting of Altea - and she smiles at him like she wants to be annoyed but instead she just finds it charming. He flirts with her and she _blushes_ , and he can't get over how pretty she looks when she's flustered, and it's just… it's utterly intoxicating.

He doesn't know how to resist her anymore, even though he knows, on some rational level, that he is playing with forbidden fire. He's so far past common sense he can't even remember what it feels like. Some tiny, logical part of him keeps insisting that sneaking out with the Princess so he can kiss her behind a bookshelf is a spectacularly bad idea. It's just that the sensible voice in his head is completely drowned out by the song of his reckless heart, echoing through him every time he's near her, telling him to keep going, to let the tide carry him and not think about the consequences.

He has been in love before. But never like this. The feeling completely consumes him, and he is helpless in the face of it.

He glances up at Allura - and as if she senses his attention on her, she looks up at him, and their eyes meet across the crowded chamber. He cannot help but smile at her. But there is something hesitant about the way she smiles back, and he wonders if she, too, is thinking about what happened last night.

He vaguely remembers her coming to bed late, and saying something to him as she wrapped her arms around him, but this morning it's all a sleepy blur. Does she regret sneaking out with him? Or does she regret the interruption? It feels too late to ask her now - not with the end of their journey within reach.

The Matriarch emerges from her dwelling, helped down by Shay, and the crowds begin to disperse. Shiro shakes off his restless thoughts, and crosses the floor to stand beside Allura as the Matriarch reaches the foot of the stairs.

"Thank you for all the help you have given us," Allura says. She clasps the Matriarch's hand, and the older woman smiles warmly.

"It is our honour and our privilege, Princess," she says. "You may count on our help when you return."

Shiro moves to thank her as well, and as he shakes the Matriarch's hand she gives him a knowing look.

"Take good care of her, Captain," she says.

"I will," he promises.

After that, there are only a few more goodbyes to be said before they hoist their bags onto their shoulders and head out of the family chambers and back into the main passageway of the delve. Hunk and Shay accompany them - they will be their guides through the mountain, taking them through the dwarf caverns to the gateway that leads out on the other side of the pass.

Even this early in the morning, the central corridor hums with activity. According to Hunk, the delve never truly sleeps: day or night, mining for ore and gems continues; and the forges in the depths of the mountain burn bright in the darkness, making their own kind of magic out of metal and fire.

"You'll see some of the forges when we take the steam carriage," Hunk says, as they turn off the central corridor and head down a wide passage towards a row of elevation devices.

"It sounds fascinating," Allura says. "I only wish we could have spent more time with you. We could have seen everything more thoroughly."

"You are always welcome to return," Shay says. "Once the war is over, we would be honoured to show you the full extent of our delve."

Shiro doesn't doubt it - the dwarves take great pride in their dwelling, and he can only imagine how excited Hunk and Shay would be to give them a full tour. Perhaps they can come back sometime when everything is put to rights. He wonders if he will still be by Allura's side at that point, or if circumstance and necessity will force them apart before all of this is over.

They ride down into the deeper levels of the delve, taking one of the elevation devices that runs through a shaft in the rock. They come out into another large, bustling chamber lined with thick pillars. White lanterns hang from the walls and ceiling, illuminating the flow of people moving through the cavern and emerging from the passageways that open up at intervals in the walls.

Hunk leads them through the crowd, and the dwarves respectfully stand aside when they catch sight of Shay. Rumour seems to have spread of the presence of one of the Blessed in the delve, because Allura also attracts some glances and stares.

They pass through an ornate archway carved from marble, and come out onto a large open platform filled with dwarves standing in orderly queues. Shiro towers above the crowd, and so he can easily see what they are lined up for: a series of carriages stand at the front of the platform in a row, and a number of dwarves in official-looking uniforms chat with the passengers waiting to board them. The set-up is curious, though; there are no horses in sight, and the carriages all seem far too close together.

"How does this work?" he asks Hunk.

Hunk points to the far end of the platform. "You see that device? It's an engine that runs on steam. It pulls all the carriages along."

"What - all of them?" Allura asks. "I've never seen a device like this before."

"This is some of the dwarves' most closely-guarded lore," Shay says. "We usually do not show such mechanisms to outsiders."

"Does it run on magic?" Allura says.

"Partly," Hunk explains. "It uses crystals, but there's also a steam pump mechanism inside that powers these pistons, and then the pistons turn the wheels…"

Shay gives him a pointed look, and he trails off. But the working of the steam carriage sounds fascinating, and Shiro makes a note to ask Hunk more about it later.

Shay takes them straight to the front of the line, where her status as the Matriarch's granddaughter is enough to get the guard's attention and deflect any annoyance at her cutting the queue. A brief conversation in dwarvish follows, before the guard ushers them towards the first carriage in the row and opens the door for them to step inside.

The interior of the carriage is spacious and stylish, although the ceiling is a little low, and Shiro has to duck to walk inside. Benches stand in rows against the sides, underneath the windows, and Shay motions them towards a seat near the front. A carved wooden screen affords the position a little privacy, and the benches are laid out with comfortable cushions and throws.

"Please, take a seat," Shay says. "I will go and speak to the guard and bring some refreshments."

Allura sits down next to the window, and Shiro sits beside her. The bench is so low that he ends up with his legs stretched out in front of him; he imagines it probably looks ridiculous, but the cushions are at least comfortable enough to make up for it.

Shay disappears out of the carriage again, and Hunk expresses a wish to go and inspect the mechanism and quickly follows her. Which leaves Shiro alone in the compartment with Allura sitting beside him. Crowds of people stand outside the windows, and he makes out Shay speaking to one of the guards and gesturing back towards the carriage. He wonders if some kind of special treatment is being arranged for them, on the orders of the Matriarch.

Shiro turns back to Allura, and finds her watching him with something of an anxious expression on her face. She glances around the compartment, as if to make sure they are truly alone, and clears her throat.

"What?" he asks her.

"I, uh…" she begins. She clears her throat again. "I'm sorry I abandoned you last night."

Oh. So… she _is_ thinking about it. He tries to remember what words mean, because she's staring at him apprehensively, one hand playing with her hair, and she looks like she's waiting for a response and he has absolutely no idea what to say.

"It's fine," he says, and instantly regrets it. What if she takes it the wrong way and thinks that he's happy nothing happened? Even as he thinks it, her face falls, and he frantically searches for a way to undo it.

"I mean, not _fine_ ," he stammers. "Well. It _is_. Just that, uhm…"

He trails off. Allura's expression has progressed from concern to confusion, and he gets the feeling every word out of his mouth is just making things worse.

"You're not disappointed?" she asks.

He blinks at her, utterly thrown by a question that there's no good answer to. He doesn't want to keep telling her it's fine, because he doesn't want her to take it as a rejection. But if he admits that he was disappointed, then he admits that he was hoping for something, and he's so far avoided having to actually say that out loud.

The problem is, they never really talked about _why_ they were sneaking out to the cavern. It remained unspoken. Even though at the time, it felt like Allura was thinking the same thing he was, and hoping for the same outcome… he's still not absolutely _sure_. If he had kissed her behind the bookshelves, would she have leaned into it? Or pulled away and told him that a Princess cannot give her heart to a lowly guard?

It doesn't help that when he initially suggested a return visit to the kissing cave, all the way back at their campsite, he meant it mostly as a joke. He said it because Allura looks adorable when she's blushing and trying not to laugh, and seeing her happy - _actually_ happy - because of _him_ , no less - still feels like its own form of arcane magic. But it was a joke that concealed a fundamental truth, which is that he would very willingly take her out to a cavern and find a secluded corner and lay her down on a pile of pillows and then kiss her until he can't remember how to breathe.

But then she brought it up again in the delve, and he's fairly certain she wasn't really _serious_ about it, and she probably only intended it as a way to tease him or try to get him back for winding her up. He probably should have treated it that way, and just made some witty remark or brushed it off. Except that… he still remembers the way she looked at him, and the way her eyes sparkled in the lamplight, and the feeling that she meant it more than she wanted to let on. And in that foolish, breathless moment, the urge to treat her words as a serious suggestion won out over common sense. And even then, he still expected her to burst out laughing and push his hand away and tell him to stop being silly. The fact that she actually went along with it is all _kinds_ of interesting.

He never should have taken her up on it. He should have shrugged it off and made a joke of it, because now his mind is racing through a thousand what-ifs, and it's driving him crazy. What would have happened if they'd made it all the way back to the cave? His imagination keeps offering up some gloriously distracting scenarios that involve Allura wearing the sweetest of smiles and… really not much else, actually. And none of it is helping him come up with an answer to her question.

Because he _is_ disappointed, but he feels like he has no right to be. It's not like she promised him anything. It's not like she's _his_. Besides, she looked so thrilled and excited to learn about mountain alchemy that it's hard to be upset over it. And he doesn't want her to think he resents her for doing something she clearly enjoyed.

"I don't mind, as long as you're happy," he says, because it's true and it feels like the safest thing to say. "I mean… you had fun, right?"

Her eyes search his face, and then she looks at her hands in her lap.

"I suppose," she says. "I learned a lot about the alchemy they use here."

"Anything useful?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Probably. But that's all alchemy stuff, you won't be interested in it."

She's still staring at her hands, and Shiro feels like he's said something wrong without realising. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I'm interested if you explain it," he says, and Allura finally looks up and meets his gaze again. Her expression is still guarded, but something sparks in her eyes.

"You always get really excited when you talk about alchemy," he says, pressing his advantage. "It's cute."

Her eyes go wide, and a tinge of pink flushes her cheeks. She gives him a hesitant half-smile, like she's not sure if he means the compliment or not. He nudges her gently on the arm, and the smile grows a little wider.

"Come on, tell me," he says. "I wanna hear about it."

She looks away, but not before he catches her delighted grin. When she looks back at him, the hesitancy is gone from her eyes.

"Fine. I'll explain it," she says.

He sits and listens as she tells him all about the dwarvish alchemy, and how it relies more on the precise use of symbols and power lines in the alchemy circle to transmute quintessence, so that the dwarves can adjust the energy to their precise needs without the aid of the Blessed; about the crystals that act like ley lines and the Rituals that look almost like her prayers… she explains all of it. Shiro tries to understand as much as he can, and not get too distracted by the way Allura's eyes sparkle with excitement as she goes over everything she learned last night. She is still talking when Shay returns, followed by a guard who brings a tray of refreshments and sets it down on a small table anchored to the wall.

"I am sorry to interrupt," Shay says. "But we will be leaving shortly. The other passengers are just boarding now."

Shiro looks behind her, out of the window, and notes that the platform is almost empty. He was so engrossed in listening to Allura talk that he didn't notice the queues of people boarding the other carriages.

"I managed to reserve this compartment just for our use," Shay goes on. "I thought it wise to avoid too many prying eyes. And I thought you might appreciate some privacy."

She lets those final words hang in the air, but before Shiro has a chance to respond one way or the other, Hunk steps into the carriage and comes to join them.

"We're almost ready to go," he says. He grins with barely-concealed excitement. "I hope you're ready to experience to height of dwarvish engineering."

A bell rings outside, followed by an answering chime from the far end of the platform. The guards yell instructions in dwarvish, and the mechanism at the head of the row of carriages begins to rumble. Shay and Hunk take their seats on the bench, opposite Shiro and Allura, and then the device lurches and shakes beneath them, and they set off.

* * *

The ride on the steam carriage is the most impressive part of their journey to date, and from the very first moments Shiro can tell that Allura loves it. Her eyes light up with wonder as the device moves forward and picks up speed, and she immediately starts to ask Hunk a dozen questions: how does it work? How is it controlled? How fast can it go? And how far?

Hunk answers her with evident pride and enthusiasm as the carriages rumble into a wide tunnel, dimly lit by a few gold-tinted crystals set high into the walls. The device runs on metal rails set into the ground, Hunk tells them; there are several such mechanisms in the Balmeran delves, but this is the oldest and the longest; anyone can ride on it, completely free of charge, because the carriages belong to the delve as a whole and help keep the community together.

As Hunk talks, they pass out of the first tunnel and into a natural cave in the mountain, and Hunk directs their attention out of the windows and points out a stone bridge that spans a gully in the cavern floor. The sound of water churning far below echoes up to them as the carriages pass over the bridge, and Shiro peers up to see steam rising towards the distant ceiling of the cave. Natural crystals glimmer in the darkness, making their own ethereal light - and in the rocks below the rails he glimpses lanterns bobbing in the gloom as dwarves work in the mines.

Their entire journey takes a little over an hour, and as they progress through the tunnels and caverns of the delve, Shiro begins to appreciate why the dwarves rarely show the steam carriage to outsiders. The mechanism's route through the mountain provides a fascinating window into the workings of the dwarf dwelling. They pass through dark passages in the rock and emerge into towering caverns, where palaces of marble and gold rise up towards the distant stalactites, and strange plants and flowers grow amongst the crystals. They pass by giant forges, burning like red suns in the heart of the earth, and Hunk points out the workshops and machinery around them. Sometimes, the carriages grind to a halt at other stone platforms, to let passengers on and off - but thanks to Shay's influence and some polite words to the guards, they manage to keep their compartment to themselves.

"This is a huge honour," Allura says at one such stop, when Shay and Hunk get up to converse with the guards and Shiro has a brief moment alone with her. "Outsiders are rarely allowed this deep into a dwarf colony."

"I didn't even know they had devices like this," Shiro says.

"Neither did I. They are trusting us a great deal."

Shiro can sense the weight of that trust, even if Allura does not say anything about it. He gives her a reassuring smile.

"I think it's you that they trust, not me," he points out. "But we will find a way to repay them someday."

"We shouldn't speak too freely of what we've seen here," Allura warns him.

Shiro grins at her. "What do you take me for?"

She gives him a look that's equal parts annoyance and amusement. "An idiot with a knack for saying the wrong thing?"

"Ouch," he says, although Allura looks so sweet he can't hold back a smile. "What did I say this time?"

"Nothing!" she says hurriedly. "I'm sorry. You didn't say anything."

She's smiling - but there's something behind it. Some lingering doubt.

_Leave well alone, Takashi. Leave it._

But he can't.

"You want me to tell you I'm disappointed?" he says. "I am. Not in a resentful way. It's just… I like spending time with you. And I guess I got used to having you all to myself. Not having to share you with anyone. Maybe it's selfish, but… I'll always be disappointed when I miss out on your company."

Her face changes as he says it; the annoyance and doubt falls away, and something like shyness creeps into her expression. She bites back a smile, but Shiro sees it in her eyes anyway.

"That's not selfish," she says. "Actually it's rather sweet."

Shiro suddenly wishes they were actually alone, and not sitting in a steam carriage in front of a busy platform thronged with dwarves, because the sight of Allura biting her lip and calling him sweet is doing something to his heart.

"I'm sorry I ditched you," she says.

He really shouldn't push his luck. But he does anyway.

"Well, maybe you can make it up to me some time," he says.

This time, she can't hide her grin.

"Sounds fair," she says, and her voice comes out hushed and breathless.

If they were truly alone, he might be tempted to lean in and kiss her; to take the warmth in her eyes as an invitation to close the distance between them. Even though it would be foolish. But they are not alone, and the sound of footsteps outside reminds him that Shay and Hunk will soon join them once again, and now is not the time or the place to indulge in such flights of fancy. Allura looks away from him, but the tips of her ears turn crimson, and he wonders if she is also thinking about what, exactly, they have just said to each other, in the spaces between their words.

They set off again soon after, and Hunk informs them that they are almost at the end of their journey. The steam carriage rumbles through another long tunnel, and then emerges into a natural cavern with a high ceiling, where more of the sacred crystals glow like stars set against a night sky. The carriages glide out over the space on a bridge of white stone, and Shiro looks out of the window at the floor of the cave below. This part of the delve is obviously a busy residential district; Shiro spies dwellings and shops laid out in neat rows, with paths mapped out between them and illuminated by lanterns, and round plazas set with glimmering pillars, reminiscent of the stone circles that dot Altea's valleys.

The steam mechanism slows down gradually as they plunge into another tunnel and emerge at a grand platform, carved out of the living stone of the mountain. The carriages glide to a halt, and Shay leads the way out of their compartment and onto the platform. Shiro looks up - glad to finally straighten his neck and his legs - and takes in the high, arched ceiling; the pillars of pink-veined marble; the statues of dwarvish heroes set into niches in the wall.

"We are close to the grand entrance to our delve," Shay explains. "That is why the architecture here is so ornate."

"It's wonderful," Allura says. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

From the platform, a short ride up in another elevation device brings them out onto the central passage of this section of the delve. Much like the corridor Shay brought them down when they first entered the dwelling, this passage is spacious and busy with the flow of people. But it is wider and higher than the one before: interspersed with marble columns set at intervals, and overlooked by balconies on the upper levels.

The corridor slopes slightly upwards, and as they climb the light of the lamps and crystals gives way to a more natural light. Shiro peers ahead, over the crowds of people, and spies a wide archway at the head of the passage - and daylight, filtering in from outside. They have come to the grand entrance of the delve.

As they draw near to the gateway, the crowds drop off, save for the few people who have business outside the delve. They reach the archway, and Shiro glances up to see a mechanism up near the ceiling that can lower a metal gate over the entrance. The delve is not completely defenceless, then; in times of war, they can close their gates against invaders and survive inside the caves.

They emerge through the archway onto a spacious terrace that overlooks the mountain slopes. Shiro blinks in the sunshine; after spending the entire night in the delve, the sunlight hurts his eyes, and he holds a hand up to shield his face from the glare. Allura steps out into the open air and turns her face to the sky, soaking in the warmth and the fresh breeze. Before them, the mountainside drops away, covered in thick rows of pines.

"Come," Shay says. "This way."

She leads them across the terrace and down a broad flight of stone steps that opens out onto a paved clearing. The floor is set with white flagstones, and a way-marker stands in the centre. Signposts in dwarvish and Altean point towards various paths that radiate off the clearing and disappear into the trees.

"This is where we leave you," Shay says. She points to a paved road that curves away between the pines. "That path there will take you back to the mountain pass and into Naxum."

"Thank you for everything," Allura says.

"It was our honour, Princess," Shay replies. "We will help you again, when the time comes."

Their goodbyes are warm but brief; Shiro shakes Hunk by the hand and echoes Allura's thanks to Shay, and then the two dwarves turn and climb back up the steps towards the delve. Allura lingers in the clearing so that she can wave them off, and then she turns back to Shiro where he stands under the trees.

"Ready to go?" he asks her.

Allura nods. She crosses the clearing and falls into step beside him, and they turn and head down the path.

* * *

As they make their way beneath the trees, it occurs to Shiro that this is the first time they have been truly alone since the day before. It feels like an age - and that, in itself, is an odd thought. He has grown so used to being alone with Allura that it feels strange to go so long without private moments where they have only each other for company. And yet at the same time… this is not something he should grow used to. It's temporary. With Naxum only an hour or so's walk away, they are drawing close to the inevitable end of their journey.

He wonders what will happen when they reach Olkar. Aside from a broken heart on his part, the rest of it remains unpredictable. Much of it depends on who they encounter in the country, and how the embassy is managed. There are Altean army units stationed in Olkarian, which means there will be officers there that outrank him… and that means they can reassign him to other duties as they see fit. The embassy guards might well take on responsibility for Allura's safety - and then Shiro will no longer be needed.

One rather unpleasant possibility is that he is made a scapegoat for the attack on the Castle. After all, he failed to prevent it, and then promptly fled into the wilderness. And whilst it's true that he delivered the Princess safely to her allies, there might be some courtiers or politicians in Olkar who deem it necessary to blame someone for the fall of Oriande. It would be all too easy to pin responsibility onto the Captain of the Royal Guard, and hold him up as the reason for Altea's fall and the King's death. It's an ugly thought - but Altean politics can get ugly at times.

Shiro risks a sideways glance at Allura. She wouldn't let that happen, surely. It's just that… she might not have a choice. As the exiled Princess of a fallen kingdom, he has to wonder how much power she will have in Olkar, and how much she'll be buffeted by the tides of other people's demands and expectations. Hopefully it won't come to that, though. It's a bleak thing to have to consider.

On the other hand, the most favourable scenario he can think of is that Allura keeps him around as her guard, and insists on his presence in her protection detail. She will be untouchable once again, and they probably won't get to talk to each other often, but at least he will still get to be near her. That's better than nothing.

For a moment, he lets himself contemplate an entirely fanciful outcome in which he sneaks into Allura's room each night to keep her company. He knows that can never happen. But some small part of his heart dares to dream that it might.

He glances back at Allura, and this time she senses the weight of his gaze and looks up to return it. Her smile is soft, and the sparkle in her eyes has become so familiar to him that he will probably dream of it long after she is gone.

"Do we need a disguise for Naxum?" she asks.

"I figured we'd just pretend to be married again," Shiro says with a shrug. "It's worked so far."

Allura's smile turns a little mischievous. "We should agree on our story now. In case anyone asks."

Shiro takes in her expression, and the spark that dances in her eyes. He can guess what's coming next: some wild, elaborate story about their entirely pretend relationship. The last of its kind, probably; after Naxum and the skyboat, her tall tales will no longer be needed. So he might as well enjoy her vivid imagination one last time.

"Alright, so how did we meet this time?" Shiro asks with a grin.

Allura beams at him, clearly delighted, and chews her lip as she thinks about it.

"Let's say… I was a poor orphan, living in the woods. And you were the wealthy son of a local lord."

"You sound too fancy to be a peasant," Shiro points out. "No one will ever believe it."

"Fine," Allura huffs. "I grew up in a finishing school for young ladies. Sweeping the floors. And I paid attention to all the lessons, and that's where I learned manners and long words."

Shiro chuckles as she describes it, and earns himself another beaming smile from Allura.

"So how did we meet?" he asks her.

"Well, I was living in the forest," Allura says, inventing wildly as she goes. "And you were riding through the woods one day."

"Out hunting with my friends," Shiro supplies helpfully.

"But your horse tripped and fell," Allura goes on. "And you were thrown from the saddle, and banged your head on a stone."

"I got knocked out," he says. "And I woke up in a secluded glade, with a beautiful woman gazing down at me."

Allura dissolves into laughter, but Shiro catches the way her cheeks stain pink, and resolves to call her beautiful more often. He reaches out on impulse and catches her fingers between his.

"So I nursed you back to health in the forest, is that what you're saying?" she teases.

"I'm saying you found me lying there out cold and took pity on me."

Allura giggles, and toys with his fingers. The sunlight dappling through the tree branches makes her skin glow golden, and the joy shines bright in her face as she talks.

"You clearly thought I was a magical fey princess," she goes on.

"You know, I'm worried I'm not coming across very well in this story," Shiro says. "I sound like a clumsy spoiled brat."

That sets Allura laughing again, and she slows her walk so she can turn to look at him more fully.

"I think it's rather endearing," she says.

"Well clearly. Since you pretend-married me." He tries to maintain a serious expression, but in the face of Allura's mirth he can't help but grin.

"Ah, but it turns out you were an excellent listener," she says. "I told you all of my worries, and you made me laugh."

There is something behind her smile when she says it, and Shiro wonders how much she borrowed from the truth for that last part. Is that how she sees him? Or is it just an invention?

"So did I visit you in the woods, then?" he asks her.

"Of course. You brought me little useless gifts that I nevertheless cherished."

"Are you determined to make me look bad?" Shiro asks, but Allura looks so sweet and happy that he can't help but grin at her.

"I'm just trying to keep you in character!" she protests. She turns back to the path, and tugs on his hand, and he follows her without resistance.

"So how did we end up out here, then?" he asks her.

"Well, we wanted to get married," she says.

"My family obviously disapproved," Shiro adds.

Allura turns to him with a playful smile. "But you defied them. And insisted that you wanted to marry me. And they cut you off without a penny."

Shiro nods. "Finally I'm getting some backbone," he says, as seriously as he can manage, and Allura bursts into another fit of giggles.

"It's your redemption arc," she says.

Shiro smiles down at her where she walks beside him, her fingers still loosely curled around his own, laughter playing on her face.

"So let's say… I stole all the family jewels," he says. "And we ran away together to start a new life in Olkar."

"And now here we are," Allura finishes with a smile.

"Here we are," he echoes back.

He doesn't know what else to say to her. She strolls along next to him, radiant in the sunshine, her eyes sparkling with joy; and he wants to tell her that his heart belongs to her. He wants to tell her that he would do anything for her; that he would endure any hardship or struggle just to be near her and see her smile.

But he is out of time. The opportunity has come and gone. Last night, in the dwarf delve - that was the time to confess. Any words now are too late to make a difference. What is the point of telling her now? He has nothing to offer her; no more time left to spend with her. All he can give her is the shadow of what might have been, if she were not royalty and he was something other than her loyal guard.

"I'm going to miss your stories," he says.

"What makes you think you won't hear them in Olkar?" Allura asks him.

He searches her face, but her expression is serious and sincere.

"You'll be busy planning the liberation of Altea," Shiro says wryly. "I doubt you'll get much chance to tell me stories."

"I'll make time," she says firmly, and her grip on his fingers tightens. She gazes up at him with such a soft expression that Shiro cannot find any words to say to her.

He desperately wants to believe her. She is fierce and stubborn and admirably headstrong, and he knows by now just how much steel hides behind the delicate crystal blue of her eyes. Once again, his mind flings up the reckless fantasy of spending time with her in Olkarian, just the two of them in her room, laughing and joking and sharing stories… maybe she can make it real. Maybe it is not such an impossible dream.

Allura keeps a hold of his hand, and as they make their way down the path she talks more about their new fake marriage and elaborates on some of the details. Shiro stays quiet and listens, smiling at each new invention or silly idea, content just to enjoy her company for a little while longer.

A few more turns in the road bring them out to top of a steep slope and a look-out point perched on the edge of the path. They cross over and lean on the low stone wall, and gaze out at Naxum spread out before them.

The slope below them plunges down towards a valley nestled between towering mountains, their peaks permanently dusted with snow and shrouded in scraps of cloud. The endless pines of the Balmeran mountains climb up each slope, creating a blanket of dark green that sways and murmurs in the breeze. The city of Naxum sits in the hollow of the valley, curved around the edge of a narrow mountain lake that glitters in the sunlight.

"I can see the skyboats," Allura says.

Shiro looks in the direction indicated by her upheld finger, and spies the distinctive shape of the skyboats drifting into harbour over the water. They look like winged silver fish swimming through the sky, glinting in the sunlight. Tall pillars rise up from piers on the lake, and more of the floating vessels are moored to the tops of these towers, awaiting passengers and cargo.

"We're almost there," Shiro says.

"This is it," Allura says. "We made it. All this way across the wilds… and we're here."

Shiro looks at her, and bites his lip. He should say something. Something… profound or meaningful, to mark the end of their journey. But he can't think of anything inspiring. He reaches for Allura's hand instead.

"Come on," he says simply. "I want to get a good seat on the skyboat."

She laughs. "I'm glad you have your priorities straight."

She threads her fingers through his, and they turn back to the path and head down the slope towards the road into Naxum.

* * *

But when they arrive in Naxum, they hit upon a problem.

The first sign that their departure from the city might not be as straightforward as planned is the presence of large crowds of refugees on the main road. They climb down the path from the dwarf delve and re-join the mountain pass, and soon the pine woods give way to fields of wildflowers and grazing goats. The walls of Naxum come into view ahead of them - but before they draw close to the gates, they see rows of tents set up in the open spaces outside the city boundary. Local sheriffs move along the lines, directing people towards wagons holding water and food and emergency supplies. Even as Shiro and Allura walk past, more refugees turn off the mountain road into the campsites, and the deputies move to greet them and take everyone's names for their ledgers.

"There's so many people here," Allura murmurs.

"At least we won't stand out in the crowd," Shiro points out, but in truth the presence of so many people makes his heart sink. It is a sad reflexion of the state of Altea that so many of its citizens felt the need to flee their homes.

The city gates loom large in front of them, and they join the crowds queuing up to pass inside the city walls. Guards stand watch at the stone archway, wearing the uniforms of the local deputies and keeping a wary eye on the people moving in and out of the gate. For the most part, their role seems to involve directing traffic and not much else.

Shiro crosses the threshold into the city of Naxum, Allura by his side, and they find themselves in a large open space in front of the main gatehouse. The buildings here are taller than the structures they saw on the plains, as if the locals of Naxum are keen to make use of every available space, and build upwards rather than outwards. They are mostly built of the familiar white stone of Balmera province, so that every wall and paved street gleams in the sunlight. Slender round chimneys rise from grey slate roofs, and even though it is midday the smoke of household fires rises into the sky - testament to the chill in the air that lingers throughout the year.

The flow of people fans out as locals and visitors head towards their various destinations. Shiro keeps a tight hold of Allura's hand, fearful of losing her in the crowd, and they cross the square and find the main road that heads towards the lake and the skyboat docks.

"The energy feels different here," Allura says, as they make their way past rows of shops and traders' stalls. "It's purer. It feels good."

"It's not corrupted?" Shiro asks.

Allura shakes her head. "The city is surrounded by mountains, and they disrupt the ley lines. The quintessence here is unaffected by Haggar's alchemy. The mountains act as a shield."

Shiro chews his knuckle thoughtfully. He glances around at the city, and the people filling the streets. Although there are plenty of Alteans, Shiro also spots numerous dwarves mingling with the rest of the crowds, along with signs in dwarvish and Hon-sun on the shop fronts and way-markers. There are also Hanyini everywhere - Naxum is the closest big city to Nyhon, and before he left for Oriande, Shiro heard plenty of success stories from Hanyini who made a living for themselves up here in this high mountain valley.

"You notice something else?" Shiro says.

"No Galra," Allura murmurs, and Shiro nods. In the various faces of the crowd, there are no Galra soldiers to be seen.

"No Altean army soldiers, either," Shiro adds. "There's only the local deputies."

"It makes sense that Haggar wouldn't bother coming here," Allura says. "There's only one small Temple, and the ley lines here are so weak that it's barely connected with the rest of Altea."

"This isn't an easy place to invade, either," Shiro goes on. The city is surrounded by mountains, and aside from the skyboats that form the basis for the local economy, the valley in which Naxum lies is accessible only by two narrow passes through the highest peaks. From a strategic point of view, Naxum would be a nightmare to take over. And if the Temple is so small and insignificant, then it's hardly surprising that the Galra haven't bothered to venture this far north. The only thing they would have to gain from taking Naxum would be access to the skyboats, but that is probably not a priority for King Zarkon. By the sounds of things, the Galra have focused most of their efforts on finding Allura, and on Haggar's attempts to corrupt Altea's Temples. No wonder, then, that they have left Naxum alone.

Shiro gets some confirmation of this hunch when he stops to speak to a local watchman and ask for directions to the skyboat docks. The woman is Hanyini, and with the application of a little small talk in Hon-sun, Shiro is able to gather some scraps of relevant gossip.

"Apparently they've heard of the invasion going on, but they haven't seen any Galra soldiers," Shiro tells Allura, as they set off once more in the direction of the lake. "But that's why there's so many refugees here. People feel like they'll be safe in the mountains."

Allura hums thoughtfully. "The skyboat might be quite crowded."

"It might be expensive, too," Shiro says. "With this many people wanting to get on it, I wouldn't be surprised if they've ramped up the prices."

Allura tuts at him. "You're always so cynical."

"I'm just saying," he shrugs.

"Well if the worst comes to the worst, I still have some jewellery left," Allura says. "Let's just get to the docks and find out."

Fortunately, the walk to the lakeside is less than a mile, and before long they come to an area where the buildings change from shops and houses to large industrial structures. Wooden warehouses and stone workshops sit side-by-side, and the air grows warmer as the heat from forges and smithies radiates out into the streets. Wagons trundle past, laden with various wares, and workers sit or stand in the noonday sunshine and eat street food from various vendors.

The road towards the lake is wide and well-paved, kept clear of obstructions by watchmen who keep the traffic organised and moving. Shiro grips Allura's hand tight as they follow the instructions of the deputies and come out onto the lake shore.

They emerge onto a paved quay, and a wall that drops into the water below. Wavelets lap at the brickwork, and at intervals along the wall, stone stairways lead down towards moorings for small boats that bob gently on the water. A little further down the quayside, Shiro spots a harbour and dry dock, and the hum of activity that surrounds it. In the other direction, stalls and benches stand on the waterfront, overlooking the surface of the lake - and the skyboats that sail past above them.

The skyboat pier juts out into the lake, directly opposite the main street, and after their time in the dwarf delve Shiro immediately recognises the distinctive touch of dwarvish architecture. The pier is as wide as the road, built of sturdy columns and smooth flagstones, edged by cast-iron railings that stand out black against the white stonework. An ornate archway, fitted with bronze gates, stands at the entrance to the pier, and a steady flow of people passes through the gateway as they go about their business.

The ticket booths are located just inside the arches - and there is a long queue in front of them, overseen by more local watchmen. Allura stays close to Shiro's side as they line up with the rest of the people waiting to buy tickets.

"This must have been built by dwarves, right?" Shiro asks her, as they wait their turn to be served.

"That's right," Allura says. "The skyboats are a dwarvish invention, and their construction is a closely guarded secret. They built and run the docks, too."

Shiro peers over the heads of the crowd towards the far end of the pier, and tries to grasp the scale of the set-up. The walkway leads out over the lake until it reaches a circular platform, where a narrow tower rises up towards the docks above. The platform is blocked off by another set of gates and booths where - presumably - the overseers can check tickets and direct passengers as appropriate. As Shiro watches, a dwarvish elevation device rises up the side of the tower - larger and fancier than any of the elevators they rode in inside the delve. It catches the light as it ascends, so that the windows sparkle in the sun like a jewel.

Shiro tracks the path of the device with his gaze, and watches as the compartment glides to a halt and opens onto the walkways that hang in the air above him. They are slender metal structures, impossibly suspended; the glow of crystals and runes embedded into the construction gives some clue as to how they are able to defy gravity. And moored to the docks, the skyboats themselves: even more impressively beautiful up close. The sleek bodies and outspread wings are crafted from white fabric, supported by girders of gold-tinted metal and criss-crossed by ropes and pullies. White-painted gondolas hang beneath them, and even from far below Shiro spies people moving up and down the sides, or boarding the gondolas via ramps attached to the walkways.

"I haven't taken a skyboat in years," Allura says, beside him, and Shiro turns back to find her gazing up at the docks with a half-smile on her face.

"I've never been on one," Shiro says.

"I hope you're not afraid of heights," she says, and Shiro chuckles.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

But when they eventually reach the ticket booth, they run into an immediate issue.

"Next skyboat to Olkarian is in three days," the booth attendant tells them. He is a middle-aged Hanyin man with the distinctive look of someone who is not paid nearly enough for what he is currently having to deal with. Shiro glances behind him at the long queue that never seems to get shorter. On impulse, he drops into Hon-sun.

"Look, we have money if that's the problem," he says.

The man's face softens, and his eyes dart to the line of waiting customers and the deputies that stand nearby on watch.

"It's not that," he says in Hon-sun. "There aren't any boats. The mayor commandeered all the skyboats to go and rescue refugees from the south."

Shiro's heart sinks. The news does at least explain how there are so many refugees sheltering in Naxum, but… Goddess above, it's depressing to think about.

"There's nothing in the meantime?" Shiro asks.

"I'm sorry," the attendant says. "I mean… if you're just interested in getting out of the country, there's a boat to Azjaran tomorrow?"

"One minute," Shiro says. He turns back to Allura so he can translate the conversation for her benefit.

"There's no boats at all, unless you want to go to Azjaran tomorrow," he says. "I suppose we could take the boat there and then cross to Olkar?"

Allura chews her lip. "I'd rather not risk it. Let's just wait for the Olkarian boat."

Shiro nods, and turns back to the ticket vendor.

"We'll take the tickets to Olkar," he says, still in Hon-sun.

"I can get you a private cabin, if you like," the attendant says. "It'll cost a bit extra, though."

"We'll take it," Shiro says. Because it will be safer and more comfortable that way, of course. Absolutely not because a private cabin will allow him to spend the entire journey alone with Allura, away from prying eyes.

The tickets cost most of the coin they have left, and Shiro gives them to Allura for safekeeping as they make their way back off the pier and towards the bustle and noise of Naxum. They wander down the waterfront and find a bench overlooking the lake, where they sit side-by-side.

"Now what?" Allura asks. "I don't like the thought of a three-day delay."

"We can queue up again and buy tickets for somewhere else," Shiro offers. "He mentioned Azjaran, but there must be at least a few boats going to other places."

"It's too risky," Allura says. "We came all this way so we could get to Olkar - that's the whole reason why we're here. I _know_ I can trust the Olkari. And I know that they have the resources we'll need to liberate Altea. I don't want to risk going somewhere else, only to find that the Galra are waiting for us when we get there. It's just that…"

She trails off, and looks out over the rippling surface of the lake, and the fishing boats that bob here and there on the clear blue water.

"Well, think of it this way," Shiro says. "We gained a lot of time in the dwarf delve. It would have taken us days to walk across the mountain. Especially with the rain. So we're actually here much earlier than we expected to be."

Allura looks back at him. Some of the anxiety eases from her expression, and she gives him a small smile.

"What do we do now?" she asks. "Should we go back to the delve?"

Shiro thinks about this - and it's tempting, in many ways. But it also throws up a lot of risks. They would have to traipse back up the mountain, in the open, risking bandits and Galra soldiers… and then come all the way back down again in three days' time. He shakes his head.

"We're better off staying nearby," he says. "We should find an inn close to the docks. Something small and out of the way. Not too many people. Then we get a room and lie low and just wait."

Allura looks at him for a long moment.

"You want to just… spend three days in an inn?" she asks, and her voice carries all sorts of undertones that he can't quite decipher, but which nevertheless send a flood of warmth pouring through his body like liquid fire.

He feigns a nonchalance he's _definitely_ not feeling, and shrugs. "I don't see what else we can do."

Allura smiles, and her eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

"It's a good thing you enjoy my company," she says.

Shiro gives her his cheekiest grin, and tries to ignore the way his heart flutters in his chest. Three days in an inn with Allura, and not much to do but sit around and wait… he tries not to let fancy get the better of him. They still need to be careful. And he is still dabbling in something forbidden. Allura must know it, too; and whether or not she would ever let herself indulge in such a foolish impulse is a question he doesn't yet know the answer to.

He might get the chance to find out, though.

He stands up, and holds out a hand.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go look for somewhere to hide out."

Allura takes his hand and stands up, and he threads his fingers between hers; and even though it's foolish, he lets the thrill of her touch run through him and settle into his heart. They turn their backs on the lake and the sparkling skyboats, and head into the streets of Naxum to find somewhere to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lennyface.png


	14. white jasmine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Shiro and Allura lie low, and there is not much to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH I'M STILL ON MY BULLSHIT WHAT OF IT *finger guns away*

They find what they are looking for after some searching through the streets of Naxum. Shiro rejects the inns and guesthouses near the lakeside - they are too crowded and conspicuous, with too many people passing by in the busy roads outside. Instead, they venture down narrow side streets, until they come out of an alleyway and find themselves in a shaded open space, hidden between the towering walls of warehouses and workshops.

Most of the space is occupied by a tiny park consisting of a patch of grass and a single oak tree, gnarled and twisted with age. An ancient circle of stone pillars lies tumbled and broken on the grass, overgrown with moss and ivy, and Shiro wonders if this place was once a monument or shrine. Wildflowers grow in the grass, and butterflies flicker between them like scraps of coloured silk, and the square has a quiet, forgotten feel to it.

 Across the park, an inn stands against the back wall of a warehouse. It is an old half-timbered building with white walls criss-crossed by black wooden beams, and a roof of deep red tiles. None of the windows or the chimneys are perfectly alike, and the whole place has the look of having been gradually extended and built outwards in a series of increasingly mismatched additions. It looks strangely out of place; dwarfed by the larger buildings that overshadow it, tucked away in this hidden pocket between the busy to-and-fro of the workshops and factories. A sign hanging by the front door bears a faded picture, and the name of the inn: _The Jasmine Flower_.

"This looks perfect," Allura says, and Shiro has to agree.

"I don't think we'll find anywhere better," he says. "How are we going to pay for a room, though?"

"Hang on," Allura says. She digs around in her knapsack and pulls out a pair of gold bangles.

"I think you might be overpaying with those," Shiro observes, and Allura arches an eyebrow at him.

"I can always ask for extra perks," she says. "I haven't played the role of demanding society lady in a while."

"I thought you were playing the role of an orphan who grew up in a finishing school," Shiro teases her, and she laughs.

"Guess I'll just have to improvise," she says. "Come on."

They skirt around the park and find the entrance to the inn: a huge wooden door that creaks as it opens up onto a dim entrance hall. Allura steps inside, and Shiro follows her across the tiled floor to an ancient counter set against the back wall. She rings the bell, and they wait.

After a moment, a door behind the counter swings open, and the innkeeper appears: a sturdy dwarf woman of indeterminate age, who climbs up behind the counter and looks them over.

"Afternoon," she says shortly. "Are thee wanting a room?"

"We'll need your largest suite," Allura says, and for the first time in weeks, she looks every inch the Princess. The commanding tone, the regal expression - she slips back into it effortlessly. And it works. The innkeeper blinks at her, clearly thrown by the request and the tone in which it is delivered, and then glances at Shiro before replying.

"We don't have any suites," she says. "But I can give you the attic room. That's the biggest room we have. Has its own washroom and everything."

"That sounds delightful, thank you," Allura says smoothly. "And we will require someone to come up and take our laundry, of course. A change of clothes for both of us. I will need a gown - something elegant, preferably in white. Along with oils for my hair. And sweet tea with mint sent up to the room, please."

"Uh… I can see what I can do about…" The woman trails off as Allura slides the two gold bangles across the counter.

"This should cover _any_ expenses," she says sweetly. "And I'm sure I can count on your discretion."

The innkeeper looks down at the bangles, and gives this due consideration.

"Of course, ladyship," she says. "Whatever you require. Molly!"

The last word is yelled through the doorway as the innkeeper pockets the bangles and lifts a key off the wall behind her. The sound of hurrying footsteps precedes the arrival of Molly - a handsome young woman with freckles and a mass of dark red curls. She looks rather flustered, and her eyes stray from Allura to where Shiro stands leaning on the counter, and she blushes.

"Take the lady and her husband up to the attic room," the innkeeper says, as she hands Molly the key. "I hope you'll enjoy your stay with us, ladyship."

She disappears through the door behind the counter, shouting more names, and Molly beckons them towards a doorway that leads off the entrance hall and into a passageway.

"Follow me," she says cheerfully, and Shiro stands aside to let Allura through first. They leave the hallway behind them and pass through the corridor and out into a paved inner courtyard, overlooked by a few tiny windows. The courtyard is flanked on one side by a trellis overgrown with jasmine vines, and the scent of the sweet white flowers fills the afternoon air. A gap in the trellis opens onto a set of steps that lead down into a small kitchen garden full of herbs, and behind that an archway leads under the building to what appears to be a stable yard beyond.

"Did you come in across the mountains, then?" Molly asks, as they cross the courtyard.

"That's right," Allura says carefully.

"You're lucky you made it," Molly goes on, cheerfully oblivious. "The storm yesterday washed out the passes. They probably won't be clear for days."

"Does that happen often?" Shiro asks, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from personal questions.

"Well, we're lucky we don't get too many bad storms," Molly replies. "But when it rains heavily we get completely cut off. It's just us in our little valley, alone in the world!"

She reaches a door on the opposite side of the courtyard, and pushes it open.

"This way," she says.

The space beyond the door is a stairwell, dimly lit by a few tiny windows, and the stairs themselves wind upwards into the gloom.

"We don't use the attic room much," Molly goes on, as she leads the way up the steps. "But it's lovely and cosy up there."

"I'm sure we shall be very comfortable," Allura says. "This is a charming building."

"It's a funny old place," Molly says. "But Hedra - that's the innkeeper - she's nice enough. Give her a bit of coin and she'll get you anything you need. And she lets us have music after dinner most nights."

Molly talks on, as they climb up two storeys until they reach the landing at the top of the final flight of stairs, and a single door. Molly turns the key in the lock and lets them inside.

"Make yourselves at home," she says. "Dinner will be served in the dining room downstairs. Just come when you hear the bell. And I'll send someone up to light the fire, since it's always cold up here."

"Thank you, Molly," Allura says. "That's very thoughtful of you."

Molly smiles, but her eyes linger on Shiro.

"Well, uh… unless there's anything else?" she says. She twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers and gives Shiro a hopeful look.

"No, I don't think so," he tells her, and her face falls. She lets herself out, and closes the door behind her.

"She seemed very friendly," Allura observes.

"But you heard what she said about the passes being closed?" Shiro replies. He shrugs off his rucksack, and helps Allura remove her own pack so he can set them both down by the door.

Allura nods. "It means we can't be followed. Lotor probably can't find us here, at least for a few days."

"Haggar could still make one of those portals, though, couldn't she?" Shiro asks, as he toes out of his boots.

"Actually… I'm not sure if she could," Allura says thoughtfully. "You said she made the portal into a Temple before? So they seem to work on her alchemy, and my best guess is that they rely on the ley lines to create a gateway from temple to temple."

"But the ley lines are weaker here, right?"

"Exactly. It would be much harder to create a portal into Naxum, because of the mountains. Haggar might not have the strength for it."

"So we really are cut off from the outside world," Shiro says. "For the time being, at least. That's a bit of luck."

He feels a weight ease from his shoulders - a weight that has sat there for weeks. The threat of immediate pursuit is diminished. As long as they stay in the inn, the chances of being discovered are remote; and this quiet square, secreted away from the bustle of the city, provides a perfect hide-out. With a little luck and due caution, they can pass an uneventful three days in Naxum and then catch the skyboat to Olkar without further trouble.

With that thought in mind, Shiro takes a look at the attic that will be their home for the next few days. The room is long, with a vaulted ceiling supported by wooden beams, and a large fireplace about halfway down the length of the space. A giant double bed sits against the wall at the far end, covered in cushions and throws. The room is large enough to accommodate a small dining table near the fireplace, and a pair of sofas upholstered in green and gold. The rest of the furniture is as mismatched and idiosyncratic as the inn itself: an old chest of drawers; a wardrobe with sun and moon motifs carved into the moulding; books haphazardly stuffed onto a range of bookshelves, none of which are the same height as the ones next to them.

Several dormer windows open up on each side of the room, and Shiro crosses to the one closest to the door to peer out and assess the room's viewpoints. This particular window overlooks a lean-to and a narrow alleyway between two warehouses, but the rest of the windows face the walls of the surrounding buildings, or the inner courtyard on the other side. Which is good: it shields the room from prying eyes, and makes it harder for intruders to break in. Even if the view leaves much to be desired.

He hears Allura gasp, and turns around to figure out why. A door at the opposite end of the room leads into a bathing room, and Shiro follows the sounds of Allura's excited noises until he stands in the doorway.

"Look!" she exclaims. "There's a bath! I know what I'm doing first."

And there is indeed a large white bath in the centre of the room, complete with an elaborate dwarvish mechanism of pipes and valves that delivers hot water directly to the tub. Allura turns on the taps, and with a few cranks and groans, the bath begins to fill up.

"I can't wait to get properly clean," Allura says wistfully. She pulls a thick cotton robe from one of the cupboards and gives Shiro a pointed look.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me undress, or…?" she asks, eyebrow raised.

"Oh - sorry," Shiro says, blushing bright red. He had been so engrossed inspecting the white tiles and silver fixtures of the bathroom he almost forgot that they are no longer in the wilds, and Allura is no longer about to strip in front of him to bathe in a stream. Her amused expression isn't helping with his embarrassment, either.

He leaves her to it, and inspects the rest of the bedroom as a way to rally his thoughts. Allura emerges from the washroom a few minutes later, carrying her travelling clothes bundled up in her arms, and drops the whole pile into a wicker laundry basket near the door. The sound of water running drifts out of the bathroom, along with curls of steam.

A knock on the door draws Shiro's attention away from Allura, and he crosses the room and opens to door to find Molly standing on the landing, holding a tea tray and a small basket of hair oils and lotions. She is accompanied by another servant - a young man holding a bundle of matches and kindling.

"I brought your tea," Molly says, with the same warm smile as before. "And the lotions you asked for, ladyship," she adds, glancing past Shiro to where Allura stands by the bathroom door in her robe.

"Please, bring them inside," Allura says, and Molly crosses to the table and makes a great show of setting out all the tea things one by one. The job is made slower by the fact that she keeps pausing in what she's doing to look up at Shiro.

Shiro glances back at the other servant, who still stands in the doorway watching him. He is _precisely_ Shiro's type: tan skin, curly brown hair, warm eyes, and a softly handsome face.

"I'm Imran," the man says. "Can I come in and light the fire?"

He blinks up at Shiro, and his smile is so disarming that Shiro finds himself struggling to string together a sentence.

"Uh… sure," he manages. "Come in."

Imran the handsome igniter-of-fires beams at him, and crosses to the chimney, where he begins to set up the logs and kindling. Molly is still taking her own sweet time laying out the tea things and occasionally playing with her hair or making some offhand comment.

Shiro glances between the two servants, and it gradually dawns on him that they are probably both trying to get his attention. It is not a situation he's remotely used to being in, and he's at a loss as to how to respond to it. The fake-marriage isn't even slowing them down. Molly's over-friendliness is easier to handle, because there's no way Shiro would ever be interested, but Imran's shy glances are a temptation that's harder to ignore.

Maybe if he were here alone. Maybe, in some other world, where Allura didn't kiss him in an alleyway and turn his entire life upside down… he probably _would_ be interested. But he's in so deep with Allura that the thought of being with anyone else - even briefly - no longer holds any genuine appeal. He would just be comparing them to Allura, anyway. Allura could spend their entire three days in this inn lying in the bed, sleeping peacefully and not saying a word to him - and he would still rather spend his time sitting next to her than with anyone else.

He looks over to where she stands by the table, rooting through the basket of hair oils. There's a certain tension in her shoulders, and her eyes stray often to Molly and her elaborate tea set-up, but she says nothing.

Another knock sounds on the door, and Shiro crosses the room to open it again. A servant girl with blonde hair and fair skin stands in the doorway.

"I've come to collect the laundry," she says. Her eyes trail down Shiro's torso, and she twirls a finger at his clothes.

"If you want those washed," she says, "you're going to have to take them off."

Shiro meets her gaze, and takes in the suggestive smirk on her face, and… it's too much. He has no idea how to deal with this kind of attention from _one_ person, let alone three at once.

"Just… give me a minute," he says. He grabs a towel and disappears behind one of the modesty screens to undress.

Truth be told, it's a relief to strip out of his grubby travelling clothes, but the prospect of stepping back out into a room full of people wearing nothing but a towel is somewhat daunting. Especially knowing that at least three of those people will be making the most of the view.

He wonders if this is how Allura feels all the time - or how she felt in Oriande, at least. She was always considered a great beauty, and Goddess only knows how many suitors and admirers she had, and everywhere she went she turned heads and drew adoring smiles. She must be used to this kind of attention - but it's all new to Shiro. Should he be flattered? Part of him relishes the thought of stepping out and being the object of so many people's desiring glances. But a greater part of him just feels awkward about it. He would rather they left, because then it would just be him and Allura and he wouldn't feel so strangely on display.

Still, there's no putting it off. And the sooner he hands over his laundry the sooner the servants will leave. He emerges from behind the dressing screen, the towel wrapped firmly around his waist, and crosses the room to dump his clothes into the hamper.

The blonde servant girl gives him an appreciative once-over, and picks up the basket of laundry with exaggerated slowness.

"Perfect," she says, although whether she means the clothes or Shiro's bare chest, he's not sure. "I'm Freya, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Shiro says, nonplussed.

Shiro finds himself surrounded by the maids: Freya and her hamper, Molly and her now-empty tea tray - and Imran, lurking in the background looking endearingly shy.

"Will you be down for dinner later?" Molly asks. She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers and bites her lip.

"Well… I suppose," Shiro says.

"We have dancing afterwards," Freya says. "You should join us."

Dancing. Now there's an idea. He could ask Allura to dance with him after supper.

"Sounds fun," Shiro says, and the servant girls both giggle.

"It will be," Freya says. Her eyes dart back to Shiro's chest. "Shirts are optional."

She's still giggling as she turns to the door, Molly close behind her. Imran lingers, fidgeting with his bundle of matches.

"Do you, uh, need anything else?" he asks.

"No, it's fine, thank you."

With one final cute smile, Imran leaves as well, and Shiro turns around to find Allura looking at him with an oddly intense expression.

"You know our cover story is that we're married?" she says. "That's not going to work if you keep flirting with all the servants."

"I'm not flirting with anyone," Shiro protests. He wasn't, was he? "I'm just being friendly."

"With your shirt off?" Allura asks, one eyebrow raised.

He searches her face for any clue as to what this is about. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! It's fine," Allura says hastily. "It's just… I didn't realise you were such a heartbreaker. You must have been fighting off admirers with a stick back in Oriande."

He knows she only means it as a teasing comment. And maybe he should just let it go. But the truth is that Hanyini were never considered attractive in Oriande - a city where pointed ears were held up as the height of beauty, and Hanyini were poor outsiders barely spared a second glance.

"Actually, I wasn't," Shiro says, before he can stop himself. "Back in Oriande I wasn't considered much to look at."

Allura frowns. "Why not?"

"Ugly eyes," Shiro says simply. He taps his temple for emphasis, indicating the distinctive monolids that mark him out as Hanyin. Allura's face falls as she realises the implication of what he's saying.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I forgot about that."

"It's alright," Shiro says. "It doesn't really affect you."

"Yes, it does," Allura protests. She crosses to stand in front of him, arms folded. "I'm the princess. This is my kingdom, and Oriande is my city. If the people there are snobbish and ignorant, that reflects badly on me."

"Allura, it's fine," Shiro says. "I don't mind. It's not your fault."

"But it is my responsibility," she says firmly. "We shouldn't be like this. Especially in Oriande. We used to pride ourselves on being accepting of different people. It is part of the Goddess's teaching that there is beauty and goodness in our differences, and that when we take the Goddess's Blessings to others, we bear it as a divine gift. We are not supposed to hold ourselves better than others, or look down on people or pass judgment. It's wrong."

Shiro blinks at her. Not for the first time, he finds himself unsure of exactly what to say to her. They are suddenly discussing deep and serious topics, but he is all too aware of the fact that they are both technically undressed, and that knowledge keeps interfering with his ability to carry the conversation.

"I don't mind, honestly," he says. "I'm used to it."

"Well, I mind!" Allura says. "You shouldn't have to get used to being called ugly."

"It's not as if people said it to my face." _Not all the time, anyway_.

"But still," Allura insists. "You don't deserve that. I'm glad we're staying in a place where people appreciate your… you."

She trails off, and fidgets with the tie of her robe.

"You are?" Shiro asks.

"Yes," she says. "And for what it's worth… I never thought you were ugly. And I always rather liked your eyes."

The admission catches him completely off-guard.

"Wait - really?"

Allura meets his gaze, and tucks her hair behind her ears, and there's a familiar hint of red warming her cheeks.

"Well… yes. I think they're. I mean. Well. I think they're pretty."

Shiro's mouth drops open. He should say something; 'thank you' or 'your eyes are pretty too' or… just. _Anything_. Any words at all. But before he can marshal his thoughts enough to remember what a sentence is, Allura coughs and looks away from him.

"I'm going to go and take a bath," she says. She grabs the basket of hair oils and hurries into the washroom. The door closes, and Shiro hears a couple of thumps that sound suspiciously like someone banging their head against a door in frustration.

He _definitely_ should have said something.

From the other side of the door, he hears the watery sounds of Allura climbing into the bathtub, and decides it's time to do something else other than stand there and listen to her bathe. He pours himself some tea and takes the mug with him as he inspects the windows and builds up the fire. But his mind keeps drifting back to Allura's words, and what they might mean.

He knows that she's interested in him, at least on some level. Between the way she looks at him sometimes, and her willingness to sneak out to a hook-up cave with him, he can put two and two together and come to the conclusion that she must feel _something_ for him. Whether or not that interest runs deep enough for her to act on it, in defiance of her own better judgement, is still up in the air. But he had just assumed that her feelings were a recent development, born of their time on the road together. It can happen easily enough: people in close quarters, always around each other… it's easy to get attached. Maybe it's just something superficial, and that's why she never let things escalate.

The idea that she might have felt some attraction to him all the way back in Oriande had not, hitherto, occurred to him. It's an entirely novel concept. But last night in the dwarf delve, she said something about always wanting to get to know him better… and now this.

He sits on the sofa and swirls his tea around in the mug, and listens to the distant sounds of people moving about in the inn, and the creak and groan of the old building settling as the afternoon cools down into evening. The fire crackles in the grate, and he finds himself once again trying to talk himself out of his own feelings.

He can't let himself do this. The guard cannot fall in love with the Princess; such a love can never last. The heartbreak of Olkar will be all the worse if he lets himself get close to her now. The wisest course of action would be to spend the three days in the inn sleeping on the sofa, and let Allura have the bed, and keep her at a distance.

But he has tried that. He has fought it and pushed it down and argued himself out of it time and time again, and the end result is still the same: she smiles at him, and all resistance vanishes like smoke on the breeze. He is hopelessly, _helplessly_ in love with her. And if she thinks he's cute and interesting and has pretty eyes then he is _absolutely_ going to let that go to his head. He can't not. He doesn't know how to hold back anymore.

He drains his mug of tea just as Allura emerges from the bathroom, wrapped up in the robe once more and looking rather more composed.

"Still no clothes?" she asks.

"Not yet," Shiro tells her. He gets up and pours her some tea, and she accepts it gratefully.

"The bath's marvellous," she says. "I haven't felt this relaxed in weeks."

She looks it, too, which is a good sign. Shiro leaves her with her tea and takes his turn in the washroom. Whilst the bath runs, he inspects himself in the mirror, and a rummage through the cabinet unearths a grooming kit. He's not about to try cutting his own hair - that's going to need the deft hand of a barber, once they get to Olkar - but there's a razor and some shaving soap. He could at least get rid of the beard.

But Allura said she liked it. And at this point, that's reason enough for him to decide to keep it. He trims the moustache and leaves the rest, and climbs into the bath.

After weeks of travel and sleeping in the cold, the warm water is heavenly. Shiro lies in the tub and lets the heat soothe the ache in his muscles as the light drains from the sky outside. It's tempting to stay there for hours, just soaking in the warmth, but the rumble in his stomach reminds him that they haven't eaten yet - and Allura is still waiting for him outside.

His thoughts stray back to what she always says, about the Will of the Goddess and the writing of his destiny. If that's true then perhaps them being here, right now, is part of the Goddess's divine plan, too. And that means it's all out of Shiro's hands. Which is fitting, since he already feels like he's utterly lost control of the situation. He's at the mercy of Allura's sweetness, and his own reckless heart.

That being the case… there's no point fighting it anymore. Why waste the energy? If she wants to pay him compliments and take his hand and lie close to him at night, so be it.

They will go down for supper. And if he's feeling really bold, he'll ask Allura to dance afterwards. And then they will come up to the room, alone, and sit by the fire, safe and undisturbed. And whatever happens… happens. And afterwards he can just blame it on the Goddess's will.

He gets out of the bath and wraps a towel around his waist. Without the lamps on, the bathroom is now too dim to see clearly, so Shiro emerges into the bedroom still rather damp and rubbing his hair dry. Allura must have lit the lamps whilst he was bathing, because their soft glow warms the room and chases away the growing shadows of dusk. Sacred runes glimmer on the window ledges - more wards of protection, courtesy of Allura's alchemy and the Goddess's blessings.

Shiro crosses the room to the table, to see if there's any chance the tea is still warm, and Allura's eyes follow him the whole way. He looks over his shoulder to find her still staring at him, and turns around.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says. She sits on one of the sofas, still in her robe, legs curled up under her and a slim book of poetry lying idle in her hand.

"Can't a fake-wife ogle her fake-husband?" she goes on, her tone teasing and playful. "I'm just getting into character."

Shiro fights back a grin. He abandons his quest for tea and strolls back across the room towards the sofa, still towelling his hair.

"Fair point," he says.

"Anyway, you let the servants do it," Allura mutters. She rather pointedly turns back to her book.

"Are you still mad about that?" Shiro asks.

"I'm not mad!" she protests, her eyes still fixed on the book in front of her. "I think it's nice. I'm happy we're staying in an inn where all the servants find you irresistibly attractive."

"Yeah, you look thrilled," Shiro says, because she looks the opposite and he can't figure out _why_ , and it's bothering him more than it should.

She looks up at him, and frowns. "What are you doing to your hair?"

"I'm drying it."

Allura tuts, and puts her book down. "Come here," she says. She gets up and fetches a comb from the dresser, and Shiro follows her instructions to sit on the sofa in front of her.

She comes and stands close to him, and he sits patiently and lets her brush out his damp hair with the comb. Her fingers move gently over his scalp, and Shiro gazes up at her, mesmerised by the softness of her expression as she fixes up his hair to her liking.

"You kept the beard," she observes.

"Well… you said you liked it," Shiro replies.

She meets his gaze, and her hands pause in their motions.

"And that's why you kept it?" she asks. "For me?"

"I like it when you're happy," Shiro says simply, and Allura smiles at him. She turns her attention back to his hair, but the smile lingers on her face. She is so close that Shiro could easily put his hands on her waist and pull her into his lap, and the only thing that keeps him from doing so is a lingering uncertainty as to how she would react.

A knock on the door prompts Allura to put the comb down and cross the room to open it, and Shiro is left wondering if he should have taken his chance while she was in front of him. Freya and Imran stand on the landing; Freya with a basket of clean clothes in her hands, and Imran holding their shoes.

"We did the best we could, ladyship," Freya says. She steps into the room and places the basket of clothes down on a dresser beside the door. "Dinner will be served soon, if you'd like to get dressed."

Her eyes dart over to Shiro, still sitting shirtless on the couch, and she bites her lip.

"Although you don't _have_ to," she says.

"Thank you, Freya, that will be all," Allura says pointedly, and the girl turns to leave. Imran places the shoes by the door - Shiro's boots, fresh from being cleaned, and a pair of soft slippers for Allura - and as he turns to leave he shoots Shiro a nervous glance.

"She's joking," he says apologetically. "You probably should wear clothes. Not that you _need_ … I mean it's just… bye."

He blushes crimson and hurries out of the room, and the door closes behind him.

"What did they send up?" Shiro asks. He crosses to Allura's side and inspects the clothes in the basket.

As requested, Allura's gown is a soft white, accented in pink and gold brocade, with a wide skirt and long sleeves. For Shiro, there is tunic and trousers, both black. They look plain but well-made, and an embroidered pattern of stars twists around the neck and hem, picked out in black silk thread.

Allura picks up the tunic and holds it up to Shiro's shoulders, her head tilted to one side as she appraises the look of it.

"What's the matter?" Shiro asks. "Too much black?"

"Actually, it rather suits you," Allura says with a smile.

"If you say so."

"I'm sure you can get the opinion of all your admirers later," Allura goes on, and once again that edge creeps into her voice, and a shadow lingers in her eyes.

"Why would I bother?" Shiro says, as he takes the tunic out of her hands. "I've already heard the only opinion I care about."

She meets his gaze, and the shadow passes, and she hides a smile as she picks up her dress.

"I'm going to change," she says. "We should go down for dinner soon."

She retreats behind one of the modesty screens, and Shiro takes the opportunity to hastily dress in the outfit sent up for him. He wonders idly if it was bought or borrowed. Allura must be used to this - asking for something, and having it magically appear, and not having to worry where the servants found it. It's a whole new experience for Shiro, though. Still, at least the clothes fit well.

Just as he is tugging on his boots, Allura emerges from behind the screen wearing the dress. The bodice hangs loose, and the neck slips off her shoulders. She turns around, rather self-consciously.

"Could you lace me up?" she asks.

"Sure," Shiro says. He crosses to where she stands in front of a full-length mirror, and she turns to watch her reflection in the glass as he works. The dress has ties at the back, and Shiro gently tightens them until Allura nods her approval, and then secures the laces with a bow.

Allura inspects herself in the mirror, and Shiro tries not to stare. She wore gowns all the time in Oriande, of course, and she always looked regal and stunning. But it has been a while since he saw her in anything quite so formal. The dress hugs her figure, and the pink and gold brocade brings out the warmth of her skin, and the dipping neckline shows off her neck and the delicate curve of her jaw and she is just _mesmerizingly_ beautiful.

"It feels like an age since I wore anything this fancy," she says. "Does it look alright?"

She turns around for his opinion, and looks up at him through her lashes. In the lamplight, her eyes seem to glow like crystals, and Shiro finds himself once again lost for words.

"You look lovely," he manages. It's not much, but Allura smiles nevertheless.

The dinner bell sounds, from somewhere down in the courtyard, and Allura picks up her skirt and slips into the shoes that Imran brought for her.

"Ready to go?" Shiro asks, and she nods.

"I'm starving," she says. "I hope the food's nice."

Shiro locks the door after them and slips the key into his pocket, and they head downstairs for dinner. The stairwell is only dimly lit, and Allura clings to Shiro's arm as they descend the steps and push open the outer door.

They emerge to find the courtyard lit with coloured lanterns, strung haphazardly across the space. A door opposite stands ajar, and the murmured sounds of talking and movement drift out into the evening air. They cross the courtyard, and Shiro holds the door open for Allura to step inside the dining room. She pauses on the threshold and waits for Shiro to step in after her, and he catches the anxiety hiding behind her composed expression. He offers her his arm, and she slips her hand into the bend of his elbow and shoots him a grateful glance.

The room in which they find themselves seems to serve as a general communal space for the inn: dining tables stand near the walls, and there is a bar at one end, and a tiny stage at the other. Some of the tables are occupied by guests sitting down to dinner, but there are several other customers in the room enjoying drinks from the bar, or chatting with the barkeep. Around half the customers are dwarves, and there are several low benches and tables laid out to accommodate them.

Molly bustles up as soon as they enter, wearing an apron and a beaming smile.

"We set out a table for you, ladyship," she says politely. Her gaze drifts over Shiro's outfit, and Allura - in her capacity as the possessive wife - tightens her grip on Shiro's arm.

If Molly notices, she does not let on. She leads them across the room to a booth set against the wall, out of the way of the other diners. Either because of Allura's ladylike demeanour - or the fact that they paid for their stay with expensive gold jewellery - their table is the best in the room.

Freya brings out their food: stewed meat and couscous, served with warm bread. As they eat, they talk about anything or nothing; or they watch the people in the bar and try to guess who they are and where they came from. Allura finds the game delightful, and she begins to relax and liven up as the evening goes on.

They spot the three servants bustling around the room, but with so many guests dining at once their attention is otherwise occupied, and Shiro avoids too many run-ins with his 'admirers', as Allura calls them. The meal winds to a close, and Molly comes over to clear their table.

"You should stay for a bit," she says. "The bards will start playing soon."

"What do you think?" Allura asks, as Molly leaves with their empty plates.

"We can stay, if you want," Shiro says, trying not to sound over-eager. "It's not like we have much else to do."

"They have drinks, as well." Allura eyes the bar hopefully. "I haven't had anything stronger than coffee for weeks."

Shiro chuckles. "Alright, but no getting drunk."

"Gosh, you're always so serious," she says. "Are you going to tell me that we need to stay alert and vigilant in case of attack?"

She gives him an arch look, and Shiro cannot resist teasing her.

"No, I just don't want to have to carry you up the stairs."

It draws a laugh from her, and she does not protest his plan. In the end, they settle for a half-tankard of mead each, and wander over to a bench near the fire to listen to the bards.

Three of them take the stage, holding a variety of lutes and hand drums, and they warm up with a few folk songs as the last of the diners finish their meals. Imran goes around the room and dims the lamps, and in the warm glow of the fire the bards tease out a lilting, gentle tune, and begin to sing a ballad.

At first, Shiro doesn't pay much heed to the words. Allura looks lovely in the firelight, and she sits so close to him on the bench that her shoulder bumps his, and it's hard to care about anything else in the world. But a few lines from the song break through and grab his attention, and he turns to look at the bards and actually listen. With a jolt, he realises they are singing about _him_. And Princess Allura.

Allura realises it at the same time, because her hand goes to his arm and she grabs hold of his sleeve. He turns to find her as confused and shocked as he feels, and a slow grin spreads over her face. But there's no mistaking it. The ballad is a story of how Princess Allura escaped Oriande, with the help of the Captain of the Guard.

It must be coincidence, surely. No one knows they escaped together. But for whatever reason, the idea apparently captured people's imaginations, and now… there's a song about it.

At first, Shiro worries that the details of their flight into the wilds have become common knowledge, somehow. But as the ballad progresses, he realises the story being told is simply an elaborate fantasy. I mean, sure, he had a bad injury at one point and lost a lot of blood, and there's some hazy memories in there, but… he's fairly certain he would have remembered battling a giant cursed bear.

Allura leans up and murmurs in his ear: "This seems heavily embellished."

He hides a laugh in his hand, and puts his arm around Allura's shoulders, so that he can lean down and speak to her quietly without being overheard.

"I think it's pretty accurate," he says. "Especially that part about the flying horse."

Allura dissolves into giggles, and as the song continues her eyes grow wide and her shoulders shake with mirth.

"I don't remember you battling a pack of wolves," she says at one point.

"Well, you were asleep at the time," Shiro says, and she laughs again, and leans into his shoulder. The mead gives him a pleasant buzz, and Allura seems to glow with a magic all her own, and in that moment it suddenly seems like a brilliant idea to tighten his arm around her and pull her close.

The bards start on their final verse - and it turns out that the Ballad of the Princess and her Knight is a romance, because the final lines detail a heartfelt declaration of love. The noble Guard Captain confesses his feelings, and the Princess rushes into his arms and kisses him, and their love purifies the kingdom and washes all corruption away…

Shiro glances over at Allura, and their eyes meet, before she looks hastily away. She clears her throat and reaches for the tankard of mead, shifting away from him as she does, and Shiro pulls back his arm and runs a hand through his hair and looks away from her, cheeks burning.

The story is as fanciful and ridiculous as they come, but judging by the faces of the inn's patrons… they love it. Everywhere Shiro looks people are sighing or clutching their hands to their hearts or breaking into applause. It's wild. The adoration of Princess Allura he can understand, but the character of 'Guard Captain' is nothing but a fictional invention. Perhaps it's just the idea of a love story born out of hardship and tragedy; or the appeal of a hopeful ending to a seemingly hopeless situation.

He wonders what Allura thinks of the whole thing, but even with the mead warming his veins he doesn't dare ask her. When he glances in her direction, he finds her contemplating her empty tankard.

"Will you get me another one?" she asks, holding up the mug for emphasis. "I promise I can still walk up the stairs."

The idea of drinking his courage sounds very appealing right now, so Shiro relents.

"Sure," he says. "Wait here."

He takes the empty tankards and heads across the room towards the bar. The bards have finished their ballads for the evening, apparently, and the servants come in and push the chairs and tables aside to make space for dancing. The musicians strike up a cheerful melody, and people take to the floor in pairs or groups.

With the dancing now in full swing, the space around the bar is relatively quiet, and it is easy to get the barkeep's attention.

"Two more, please," Shiro asks, handing over the mugs. As he leans on the bar and waits for the drinks to be poured, he keeps an eye on Allura as she watches the swirl of bodies on the dancefloor.

He should ask her to dance. But the ballad made him self-conscious, and now he's not sure how to go about it. Should he walk up her and bow and offer his hand? Ugh, no - that's way too much. Maybe he can just… lean over on the bench and say "feel like dancing?" But that seems _painfully_ casual. He should at least do it _respectfully_. She is a Princess, after all.

As he mulls over his options, Molly and Freya emerge from the whirling dancers. He is so caught up in thinking about Allura that he doesn't notice their approach until they grab his hands, jolting him unexpectedly from his thoughts.

"Will you dance with us?" Molly asks breathlessly, her cheeks warm with exertion.

The enthusiastic request seems to come out of nowhere - until he remembers, belatedly, that they mentioned dancing earlier, up in the room. Between Allura and the ballad, he forgot all about it.

"Oh, uh - I don't think--" he stammers, but Freya tugs on his hand insistently.

"Come on!" she says. "It'll be fun!"

"I can't, honestly," Shiro says. An idea occurs to him. "My wife wouldn't like it."

"Oh, come on," Molly urges. "She won't mind! It's just a bit of fun."

"She will if I don't dance with her first," Shiro says. He smiles at the maids, and tries to keep his tone light, because the last thing he wants is to cause a huge scene in the inn where they're supposed to be laying low and avoiding unwanted attention. He scans the crowd for Allura, and spots her on the bench, looking in his direction. With the distance and the noise, she can't possibly hear what is being said, and her expression gives nothing away.

"She ought to let us borrow you for a bit," Freya says. "Or does she not like to share?"

"It's not just that," Shiro says. "She's my favourite person to dance with. I'm sorry."

"I suppose that's kind of sweet," Molly says.

Freya, on the other hand, is not so easily deterred.

"Well if you change your mind, I'm an _excellent_ dancer," she says. She fiddles with Shiro's collar. "You know, if she falls asleep early and you get lonely…"

"Freya!" Imran's voice cuts her off, and Freya looks over. The servant stands there with a loaded tray, which he shoves unceremoniously into Freya's hands.

"Put this in the kitchen, would you?" he says. Freya glares at him, and storms off. The barkeep chooses that moment to place two tankards of mead on the bar, and Shiro takes the opportunity to extricate himself from the whole conversation.

"Excuse me," he says, to Molly and Imran. He takes the tray of drinks and hurries off.

He finds Allura still sitting on the bench, and he puts the drinks down on a nearby table. Allura frowns at him.

"What was all that about?" she asks, as Shiro sits down beside her.

"Oh, nothing," he says. "They just wanted to dance, that's all."

"Well, don't let me stop you," Allura says. She picks up her tankard and pays very close attention to the mead swirling around inside it.

Something's up. It's the same thing that's been bothering her since they got here, but Shiro still can't figure out what it is, except that it makes Allura oddly tense and unhappy.

"It's fine," he says. "I didn't really want to dance with them."

"Are you sure?" Allura says, her tone deceptively light. "I don't want to stop you having fun. So if you want to stay here and dance with your three pretty admirers, just tell me, and I'll take a whole bottle of wine up to the room and leave you to it."

"Is that what you think I want?" Shiro asks.

"I don't know, is it?" Allura turns to him, and a storm of emotions swirls in her eyes, and then she quickly looks away again.

Shiro stares at her - at the hunch of her shoulders, and the furrow of her brow - and suddenly everything makes sense.

"Wait. Are you jealous?" he asks.

Her eyes shoot back to his face, and her mouth drops open. But he doesn't need to wait for her answer - he sees it clearly in her expression. She _is_ jealous. She's trying not to be, and she's desperately trying not to show it, but it's there. It flashes in her eyes before she can conceal it: the discomfort at finding herself suddenly competing for his attention, and the fear that she will be overlooked.

"Of course not," she says, the lie huge and obvious. "Why would I be? You can do whatever you want. I don't have any right to be jealous. You're not _mine_ , so…"

She trails off, and leaves the words hanging heavy in the air. And Shiro realises that behind the jealousy lies a very real insecurity. She genuinely does not know if she would be his first choice. He has never told her - they have never spoken of it, except obliquely. He recognises the uncertainty in her eyes, because he feels it too: the longing for a connection, and the fear that it can never be; the desire for all of this to mean something, for it to be _real_ , even though the reality of it will make life harder for both of them.

_You're not mine_. But he desperately wants to be.

"Do you mean that?" he asks. "I can do whatever I want?"

"Of course." Her eyes give nothing away; her expression is carefully neutral.

"Good," Shiro says. He holds out a hand to her. "Dance with me."

Allura's mouth drops open. She looks down at his hand.

"You don't have to start flattering me just because you think I'm upset," she says.

"That's not what I'm doing."

"If you want to go and sweettalk the servants, it's fine, I won't stop you."

"You don't want to dance with me?"

The question pulls her up short, and she meets Shiro's gaze. She chews on her lip - fear and uncertainty still swirling in her eyes like storm clouds.

"I'm not jealous, I promise," she says. "And it's not my place to tell you what to do, or who you can talk to. So you can dance with whoever you want, and it's none of my business. You don't have to feel bad. Honestly."

She looks up at him, and makes an admirable effort to appear composed and calm. And Shiro could leave it, but… he's not going to. Not anymore.

"There's only one person in this room I _really_ want to dance with," he says. "And she's making me work for it."

He gives her his best cheeky grin, and holds out his hand again for emphasis. Allura catches his meaning, and he watches her expression change - watches as some of the doubt dissipates; as she tries to resist being charmed by the flattery, and fails. Her lips tug up into a half-smile.

"Why do you want to dance with me so badly?" she asks, and although she does her best to feign a haughty disinterest, the unmistakeable note of elation creeps into her voice.

He could answer that in any number of ways. And he picks all of them at once.

"Because you're the prettiest person in the room," he says, and it earns him a little more of a smile. He presses on. "Because you're smart, and you're kind. You make me laugh. And I like the way you tease me."

Her eyes sparkle, and she bites back a grin. And he should stop, he really should, but… he has the wind in his sails, now. He's heading out into open waters and picking up speed, and the joy that dances in her eyes calls him onward and makes him reckless.

"You kissed me in the alley, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since," he says - and that does it. Her eyes go wide; the tell-tale pink of a blush stains her cheeks. But the doubt and the uncertainty drops away; the insecurity and the fear and the longing for answers that never seem to come.

"And honestly?" Shiro goes on. "I just really like holding you in my arms."

Allura smiles as he says it, her hand pressed to her mouth to try and hide it. But her eyes sparkle with mirth, and Shiro realises that she, too, is leaving common sense behind in the dust. She is ready to give in and be reckless, just like he is.

She sets down her tankard and stands up, very deliberately, and holds out her hand.

"You may have this dance," she says, with mock formality, and Shiro grins. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, and she does not bother to hide her delight as he stands up and follows her.

Allura turns and heads towards the dancefloor, and the whirl of bodies, but Shiro tugs on her hand.

"Not here," he says. He pulls her towards the door instead; out into the little courtyard lit by coloured lanterns, where the jasmine flowers fill the air with their scent. The door swings shut behind them, and the music faintly drifts out through the windows, and they stand alone in the soft glow of the lanterns.

"Out here?" Allura asks breathlessly, and Shiro nods. He slips one arm around her waist and pulls her close to his body, and the proximity alone makes the marks on his cheeks tingle. He holds out his other hand and watches her thread her fingers lightly between his. When he turns back he finds her eyes on him, her expression unguarded and full of trust.

He's not great at dancing. But the music is gentle and slow, and Allura sways in his arms, and he feels light enough to float away.

"Are you happy now?" she asks, her tone teasing and light. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and her thumb idly brushes the embroidery on his collar.

"Yeah," he says with a grin. "I'm really happy."

And it's true. The feel of her in his arms is enough to make his heart sing, and he wants to hold onto this feeling forever.

"I can't believe I'm the only person you wanted to dance with," she says, and he can't tell if it's lingering doubt or if she's just fishing for compliments.

"Are you kidding?" he says. "I'd pick you over anyone."

She looks at him like she's trying not to grin. "You don't mean that."

"You don't believe me?" he asks. "You wanna get out that truthstone? Put me to the test?"

"That is for serious diplomatic uses only," she says. "It's not for…"

She stops, and bites her lip.

"It's not for romance?" Shiro finishes for her.

She tenses up, ever so slightly, and when she replies her voice carries the weight of questions within questions.

"Is that what this is?" she asks.

Shiro looks around at the lanterns, and the jasmine flowers, and this quiet courtyard hidden away from the crowds, wrapped up in its own soft magic.

"Well, not to brag, but… I like to think this is pretty romantic," he says with a smile.

Allura chuckles. "You're right, it is." The tension leaves her body, and she relaxes into him.

"You know, I used to watch you do this in Oriande," Shiro says. "When I used to stand guard over the ballroom. I never thought I'd get to dance with you, though."

Allura looks up at him, the joy sparkling in her eyes.

"Did you want to?" she asks.

Shiro chuckles. "Everyone wanted to dance with you, _Hime-sama_."

"You're not answering my question."

He hesitates. But now seems like a good time to tell the truth.

"Actually… I just wanted you to be happy," he says. "I always liked seeing you happy. I just didn't think I was particularly necessary for that. I never dreamed that big."

Her expression softens as he talks, and she bites her lip. And then she takes a deep breath, as if preparing to impart a great secret.

"I have to tell you something," she says. Judging by the grin on her face and the blush in her cheeks, it's something good.

"What?" Shiro asks.

"I uh… I always wanted to dance with you, back in Oriande."

Shiro blinks in surprise. It is absolutely not what he was expecting to hear.

"Really?" he says. "With me?"

Allura laughs softly. "Why's that so hard to believe?" she says. "Why wouldn't I want to dance with the handsome Captain of the Guard?"

"Handsome, huh?" He really is helpless, now. There's fire in his veins and light in his heart, and Allura smiles up at him, mesmerising and magical in the lamplight, and he is powerless to resist her.

"You were always standing in the corner, looking very stern and serious," she says.

"I was doing my job!" he protests.

"I suppose I just wanted to see if I could get a smile out of you."

"You can," Shiro says with a laugh. "You definitely can. Pretty easily, actually."

Allura chuckles. She runs her thumb over his finger, where their hands are joined together, and the simple touch is enough to make his skin tingle and his heart skip a beat.

"Makes me wonder what else I could get out of you," Allura says.

"Anything you want," Shiro says, before he can stop himself.

"Anything?" she whispers.

"Anything. Everything." Her eyes shimmer, and her face is soft and open and trusting, and he can't resist her any more. The words spill out of him; the truth that he has been too afraid to tell her.

"I'm yours if you want me," he says. "You just have to ask."

She stands still in his arms and gazes up at him, her eyes wide, but she does not pull away. She does not flee, or tell him she can never be his. The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at her lips, and he wonders if she has been waiting to hear those very words.

"You called me _marksglow_ ," she whispers. "Did you mean it?"

There is only one way he can think of to answer that. He leans down and kisses her.

As kisses go, there's not much to it. He presses his lips to hers; lingers long enough to feel her fingers curl into his tunic; pulls away, and feels the shaky exhale of her breath against his skin. But it is enough. Quintessence surges within him, awakened by her touch, and the marks on his face blaze white.

"I meant it," he says.

She stares at him - at the glow on his cheeks that carries the truth of his words - and he holds his breath and waits.

She says nothing. She doesn't need to. She pulls him back into another kiss - and there is no restraint to it, no hesitancy, no uncertainty at all. Her lips part, and he tastes her tongue in his mouth, as sweet as honey and mead; her hand slips around his neck and she presses her fingers to the skin of his nape and holds him against her. She kisses him like sunlight kisses the earth, and he has never felt anything like it.

She pulls back only when she needs to draw breath, and the marks on her cheeks shine like crescent moons in the night sky. Shiro chases after her; he tangles his hand in her hair and pulls her back to him and claims her lips once again, and it is like holding starlight in his arms. He needs to touch her just to make sure that this is real.

Her back hits something solid, and through the haze of his own untethered desire Shiro dimly registers that he has pushed her all the way up against the wall. Allura makes no protest to it. She only clings to him, both arms wrapped around him, and it is so sweet and needy and wonderful that he groans into her mouth. He breaks off and kisses down her jaw - finds the warmth of her pulse in her neck - and she gasps under his touch, and her body arches up into his, and the need for her absolutely consumes him.

Her hand reaches out and she scrabbles for the door handle beside her. The door swings open, and they tumble awkwardly into the dimly-lit stairwell. In the darkness, the only light comes from the marks on their bodies, glowing impossibly bright.

"Come on," Allura whispers. She takes Shiro's hand and pulls him towards the stairs, her face lit up with joy, and he needs no further encouragement.

Her body marks shine through the white fabric of her dress, so that as she climbs the stairs she seems to glow like the moon, rising above him into a darkened sky. Shiro follows her like a scrap of shadow, clad all in black, trailing after her in helpless devotion. He has to stop on every landing to pull her back into his arms; to kiss her again and again, and savour the softness of her lips and the feel of her fingers clutching at his hair and his clothes. She laughs breathlessly in his embrace, and he tastes her joy in every kiss, echoing his own happiness back to him.

They reach the landing, and Allura takes the key from his hand and turns to open the door, and Shiro wraps his arms around her waist and presses his lips to her neck until she hums delightedly. She pulls him into the room and locks the door behind her, and Shiro turns her gently by the shoulders. He looks down at her; at the unguarded desire that shimmers in her eyes, and the way her whole body glows under his touch.

"You look like you've been doing rituals," he murmurs.

She laughs softly, and shakes her head. "It's just you, Takashi," she whispers.

He has no way to answer that, except to kiss her again: her lips, her jaw, the curve of her neck as she lets her head fall back. She groans, and it is enough to fill his entire body with fire.

"Make love to me, _marksglow_ ," she says, her voice wrecked with desire.

So he does.

The first time happens in a rush, even though there is a part of him that wants to make it last; to savour every moment of sweetness between them. But Allura begs for him, and she sounds as desperate as he feels, and maybe they have both waited too long to hold anything back, now. She melts into him, and she is so soft and beautiful in his arms that there is nothing he can do but hold her and move with her until they are both spent and gasping.

The second time, he unravels her slowly, exploring every inch of her. He kisses her deeply and gently; traces the marks on her body; threads his fingers between hers. This time, he watches her face as she comes apart with his name on her lips, and when he finds his own pleasure inside her it is like stars being born in the night.

Afterwards, Allura lies in his arms, just like she has countless times before. But everything is different, now. Now, her gaze is soft and happy and thoroughly satisfied, and she traces her fingers over his chest in idle lines. He runs his hand up and down her arm and watches her, utterly enchanted by how lovely she looks.

"What?" she asks him.

"I just can't believe this really happened," Shiro says. "It feels like a dream."

She smiles, and toys with his beard. "Have you been dreaming of this?"

He nods. "For a while now." He catches a strand of her hair and curls it between his fingers. "Have you?"

"I used to dream of this even back in Oriande," she confesses. "But back then it was just a sort of… passing whim."

"And now it's not?"

She shakes her head, and presses a delicate kiss to his lips, and that is all the answer he needs.

"In the dwarf delve," she goes on, "would you have kissed me behind that bookshelf?"

He chuckles. "I was thinking about it, yeah."

She grins at him, clearly delighted. "I would have kissed you too, you know."

He presses his lips to hers, and she smiles into it. It is hard to believe that their night-time excursion in the delve was only yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago. And now here they are, and everything is different and new.

"I want you with me, when we get to Olkar," Allura says.

"With you like this?" Shiro asks. "Or just with you in general."

She shrugs. "Can't I have both?"

"You really want me with you? In all your meetings and everything?"

She gives him a stern look.

"Takashi… we are lying naked in a bed together," she says. "It should no longer come as a surprise to you that I like having you around."

He laughs - and it is part humour, and partly just pure happiness. He pulls Allura close, because he still cannot believe that they are really lying here like this; that he actually gets to touch her and kiss her and hold her in his arms.

"Alright, fair enough," he chuckles. "But now I'm wondering what you see in me, exactly. Since it's clearly not my brains."

Allura dissolves into giggles. "It's lots of things."

"Like what?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "You first."

"No way," he says. "I already said _plenty_ of nice things about you. Now it's your turn."

"Alright, alright." She laughs again, musical and sweet, and settles into his embrace.

Allura lying in his arms is nothing new, of course - not after weeks on the road. But tonight is different. Tonight, she does not simply close her eyes and sleep. She stays awake, her fingers dancing lazily on his skin, and tells him all the things she likes about him: his smile, his humour, his kindness in her darkest moments. Shiro presses his lips to her cheeks, her temples; he makes her laugh, and then grins when she kisses him; he threads his fingers between hers and marvels at the way their hands seem to fit so perfectly together. The fire burns low and the moon rises beyond the window, and it is a long time before either of them feel like falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lenny face bass boosted x500*
> 
> **update:** this chapter now has an omake (an additional story that fills in some of the missing scenes). it's called [_all of the lights land on you_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292119), and it's rated E, and ... well ... it's the sexy times >:3
> 
> so if you feel like reading a more detailed and explicit version of the love scenes, feel free to go read the omake. highly NSFW and definitely 18+. enjoy :)


	15. love lies bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to the skyboats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know this fic was on a bit of mini-hiatus; that was due to IRL factors, unfortunately. i've been pretty busy and didn't get much time to work on it. however, i'm excited to share this doozy of a chapter with you all! thank you to everyone who's kept up with this fic and read it and left comments, it means the world to me that so many people are so invested in this fic and still excited about it 14 chapters later!

When Shiro wakes the next morning, weak sunlight is already filtering through the drapes into the room. Allura still lies in his arms, spooned up against him with her back pressed to his chest. The events of last night come back to him in glorious detail: Allura's lips on his skin and her hands on his body and the feel of her in his arms and the heat of her breath against his neck… it wasn't a dream. It all really happened.

He doesn't know what to do with this kind of happiness. It's like the whole world is sparkling.

He pulls Allura closer to him, and tightens his arm around her waist. This kind of proximity used to be dangerous territory; a blurred boundary between what they wanted and what their roles demanded. But now it doesn't matter. He can do the things he's been longing and aching to do, like dust a row of soft kisses against Allura's shoulder and neck. She stirs under his touch, and grumbles sleepily.

"It's late," he whispers. "We slept in."

She answers him with another incoherent mumble, and burrows further into the covers, and Shiro grins. He kisses her cheek.

"I'm going to go and get us some breakfast," he says.

She nods, her eyes still firmly closed, and Shiro unwraps himself from around her and gets up. He stirs up the fire again and pulls on his clothes from the night before, and leaves Allura still bundled in the blankets whilst he heads downstairs to look for something to eat.

He emerges out into the courtyard to find the sun already peeking over the rooves of the warehouses. They really did sleep away most of the morning. The dining room is quiet and empty, so Shiro ducks through the archway in the trellis and crosses the herb garden to find the kitchen.

The kitchen door stands open to let out the warmth of the stoves, and Shiro crosses the threshold and descends the steps into the cavernous space. The room is almost deserted, and it has the look of working kitchens everywhere: two giant ranges; a vast wooden table; a low, arched ceiling hung with pans and utensils. The room smells of bread and spices and woodfires, and a giant hearth occupies much of the far wall, filling the space with heat and warm reddish light.

The only occupant of the room is Imran, who stands by the sink washing dishes. When he hears Shiro come in, he turns around, and almost drops the damp plate he's holding.

"Oh, sorry!" he exclaims. He casts around for somewhere to put the plate before dunking it hastily in the sink and wiping his hands on his apron.

"Do you need something?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," Shiro says, scrubbing the back of his neck. "We missed breakfast. Do you think you could make us something?"

"Sure," Imran says. "Give me a minute, I'll make you a tray."

He crosses to the cupboard and pulls out eggs and bread and olives, and Shiro finds a chair and sits at the table whilst Imran works. The late breakfast starts to take shape on the tray: scrambled eggs with spinach and leeks, dried meat and olives, some pieces of fruit, and a pot of the thick milky _chai_ popular in the mountain regions. Imran works in silence, for the most part, but he sometimes glances over his shoulder at Shiro, as if trying to work up the nerve to say something.

"I uh. I'm sorry about Molly and Freya," he says eventually. "They can get a bit carried away."

"It's alright," Shiro tells him. "It's not your fault."

"But still. I'm sorry if we made you uncomfortable."

"Well… _you_ didn't," Shiro says. "They did. A bit. But I appreciate you telling Freya to back off."

Imran blushes, and turns back to the stove, where he puts slices of toast onto the hotplate.

"Freya never knows when to take a hint," he mutters.

"Yeah, I noticed," Shiro chuckles. "But there's no harm done."

Imran nods, and lapses back into silence. He takes the toast from the stove and wraps it in a cloth to keep it warm, and then turns back to the table to try and find space for it on the tray.

"So did you have fun last night, in the end?" he asks. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

Shiro stirs himself from the recollection of the precise nature of last night's enjoyment, and blushes.

"Oh - uh - yes. Thank you." He wonders if the servants saw him and Allura in the courtyard yesterday, and what they made of it if they did. I mean… they _are_ pretending to be married. But did they look like a married couple, or did they look like two people finally giving into some long-repressed feelings?

"She's very lucky," Imran says, and Shiro blinks away his contemplations.

"I think I'm the one that's lucky," he says wryly. "But thank you."

"You haven't been together long?" Imran asks. He takes a couple of teacups from the cupboard, and fits them on the tray next to the sugar bowl.

"No, it's pretty new," Shiro says. Very new. Not even a day old. He looks down at his hands, and runs his thumb over the pad of one finger.

"She's a lovely lady," Imran goes on. "Really."

"Yeah," Shiro says, lost in thought. "She's something special." Too special for him, if he's being honest. The guard who fell in love with a princess. It's funny to think that the ballad from last night turned out to be true after all.

"Well, I'm happy for you both," Imran says, and Shiro looks up and sees him smiling earnestly. The breakfast tray is ready to go.

"Thank you," Shiro says, standing up. "And thanks for making us breakfast."

"Don't mention it."

He carries the tray out into the courtyard and shoulders through the door at the bottom of the staircase. As he climbs up towards the attic he has time to think about what might happen next.

He desperately wants to believe that everything that happened last night was real and genuine, but he can't shake the lingering voice of anxiety that whispers to him that this is all too good to be true. What if it was just the effects of the mead, and he is just a convenient distraction for a Princess who is bored and lonely on the long road to Olkar? Maybe this morning Allura regrets the whole thing and wishes it never happened. Maybe she's angry at him for being so forward.

He shakes his head. Now he's just being melodramatic. The only way to find out if it meant anything is to walk into the room and ask her. Besides… they didn't drink _that_ much mead. And she called him _marksglow_. Surely it was real. It has to be.

He reaches the top of the stairs and lets himself back into the attic. The sound of running water filters through the bathroom door, and Shiro crosses to the little dining table and puts down the tray.

The water stops, and a moment later Allura steps out of the washroom. She doesn't _look_ like she's about to give him the "last night was a mistake" speech. Mostly because she is wearing his vest, and absolutely _nothing_ else. The sight of her bare thighs is almost enough to make Shiro forget about food altogether, possibly for the rest of his life. He tries not to stare, and fails miserably.

Allura tucks her hair behind her ears and crosses to the table. Judging by the half-smile on her face, she knows _exactly_ what she's doing to him, and is rather proud of her ability to render him speechless. She stops in front of him, and casts her eye over the contents of the breakfast tray.

"This looks nice," she says. She walks her fingers idly along the table top. "You didn't have to do all this."

"Actually… I did," Shiro says apologetically. "We slept all the way through breakfast downstairs."

"Oh." Allura meets his gaze, and her fingers continue their journey across the table towards his hand, and she takes another half-step towards him.

"Plus, you know, after last night, I - uh," he trails off, suddenly unsure of what to say to her. "I mean. Last night was really… it was…"

He stops talking, because apparently on his journey up the stairs he somehow forgot how to hold a normal conversation. Allura looks up at him, her eyes sparkling blue, and a slow smile spreads over her face. She takes his hand and plays with his fingers, and even such a simple touch sends a tingle of warmth down his spine.

"Last night was really nice." She blushes as she says it, and a shimmer of light runs through the marks on her cheeks and then fades.

Goddess above, but he really is doomed. She's absolutely mesmerising.

"Yeah, it was," he manages, his voice barely more than a murmur. Allura keeps smiling at him, and he's vaguely aware that he's blushing bright red, but he's past caring. Allura snags the front of his tunic with her finger and chews on her lip.

"You know, I meant what I said to you," she says.

"Which part?" Shiro asks.

She shrugs, her cheeks flushed adorably pink.

"All of it," she says. "I meant everything I said to you last night."

She toys with the collar of his tunic, and Shiro lets his hand settle on her hip. She meant it. It wasn't a mistake; there's no regret or reluctance in her eyes. She called him _marksglow_ and meant it, and now she's standing in front of him wearing his vest and a hopeful expression, and it cannot possibly be real but… it is.

"I meant everything too," he says, and Allura's smile widens. She tugs him closer, and he slides his arm around her waist.

"So you'll stay with me in Olkar?" she asks. She lays both hands on his chest and looks up at him, and he stands there and holds her in his arms and thinks that he could _definitely_ get used to this. Even if he probably shouldn't.

"I'll stay with you for as long as you want," he says. He doesn't know how, but if she wants him around he will do everything in his power to stay by her side.

She rises up on her tiptoes. "You promise?" she asks.

"I promise," he says with a grin.

Her gaze drops to his lips, and she leans forward almost hesitantly - as if this is a first kiss, and she's not sure of his reaction. Shiro tucks his fingers under her jaw and pulls her lips against his, and she runs her hand up into his hair and slips her tongue into his mouth and kisses him deeply and softly. Every blessed sensation from the night before rushes back to him, all at once, and he forgets breakfast and food and the inn and the Galra; he forgets everything except Allura in his arms.

She breaks away because her stomach growls, and she hides a laugh in his shoulder. Shiro chuckles, and kisses her cheek and temple until she looks back up at him.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"I'm starving," Allura says. She gives him a look that might have been stern, if her eyes didn't sparkle with joy. " _Someone_ kept me up late last night, and I worked up quite an appetite."

Shiro grins. "You're saying it's my fault?"

"Well, isn't it?" She arches an eyebrow at him, but she's smiling nonetheless. He settles his arms around her waist and tries to at least _pretend_ to look serious.

"I seem to recall that last night was the result of mutual enthusiasm," he says. "Which means we have to share the blame."

Allura dissolves into delighted giggles, her hands tangled in his tunic and her head tucked against his chest to hide her blush.

"You can't pin this on me, _Hime-sama_ ," Shiro jokes.

Allura looks up at him, and behind the teasing smile he sees something deep and genuine in her eyes.

"You're really cute, you know that?" she says.

He smiles. "So you keep telling me."

He kisses her again - and it still does not feel real, to be allowed to wrap his arms around her waist and press his lips to hers and taste her and feel her in his embrace. But she wants this - and she wants _him_ \- and for now she is not a Princess and he is not the loyal knight. They are just two people staying in an inn, hidden away from the prying, judgemental eyes of the rest of the world.

"Let's eat," Allura whispers. "The food will get cold."

Shiro nods, and kisses her one last time, and then reluctantly lets her go so they can sit at the table and have breakfast.

The food is delicious, and whilst they eat Allura decides to ask him how much of the night before was planned in advance on his part.

"All of it," he jokes, and she snorts. "Meticulously planned down to the last detail. I even wrote the ballad."

"No you didn't," Allura laughs.

She does eventually get him to confess that the dancing was pre-meditated; a revelation that seems to delight her no end. With a little teasing of his own, Shiro gets her to elaborate on the 'passing whims' of Oriande, as a result of which he learns exactly how long she had waited for him to kiss her.

"Since the day we met?" he asks, incredulous.

"I never thought you'd actually do it!" she protests. "I told you, it was just a whim."

"So… when we went to the rain room," he goes on. "Were you looking at the weather? Or were you looking at me?"

She dissolves into giggles. "A bit of both?"

"You know I always felt bad for standing in front of the windows and blocking the view?" he tells her. "Little did I know…"

"Stop," she laughs. "Don't tease me."

"I won't," he says. In truth, he doesn't know how. The revelation throws everything into a new light. All that time he spent worrying that his interest in her was impertinent or inappropriate, and it turns out she had been longing for it the entire time.

They finish eating and take their tea to the sofa, where Allura sits with her legs tucked under her, watching the fire crackle in the grate. Shiro reaches out and plays with a curl of her hair as it falls past her ear, and she turns to look at him, her lip caught in her teeth.

"So what are we going to do?" she asks. "We're stuck here for another two days."

Shiro has a wealth of ideas, but he pretends to give the question due consideration.

"Well… we can't really leave the room, except for dinner," he says. "We don't want to risk being recognised. Or drawing too much attention to ourselves."

"Hmmm," Allura nods. "Probably wise. We should just stay up here."

"So what do you want to do?" he asks.

Allura's smile turns mischievous. She puts her teacup down on the end table and climbs into his lap, and Shiro watches her settle above him, her knees framing his thighs, and her hands on his shoulders. He doesn't resist when she takes his cup out of his hands, either, even though there's still tea in it. Suddenly, that does not seem nearly as pressing a matter as Allura's bare thighs being within easy touching distance.

"I do have some ideas," she says. Shiro grips her waist and grins up at her, and she toys with his hair, as if lost in thought. The touch sends tiny ripples of pleasure dancing away down his spine; he longs to pull her into a kiss, but on the other hand… She's beautiful like this; teasing and playful and full of light and humour. He could happily watch her play with his hair for hours.

"Oh?" he says. "Ideas like what?"

"Something that will require both of us," she says sweetly. "Well - you _can_ do it with just one person, but it's better if you have two."

Shiro chuckles. He runs his hands up her bare legs, up to the hem of the vest she's wearing, feeling the delicious heat of her skin beneath his palms. Stars above, but he wants to touch every inch of her again; find every soft curve and sweet spot, kiss her until her marks shine bright beneath his lips.

"And what's this mysterious activity?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know.

But apparently Allura is not done teasing him.

"We should play _chu-tin_ ," she says, her face a picture of mock innocence. "I found some tiles in one of the cupboards."

Shiro lets his hands grind to a halt on her waist.

"You want to play board games? Really?"

"It will keep us focused and alert," she says. "So we can be on the lookout for any signs of danger."

She gives him a wonderfully imperious look, and Shiro raises an eyebrow at her.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy, _Hime-sama_?" he asks.

She grins, and shifts in his lap in a way that seems deliberately calculated to torment him.

"Is it working?" she asks, her head tilted to one side, hands scrunched into his tunic, her eyes sparkling and bright. Judging by her expression, she knows _exactly_ how well it's working, and is rather enjoying it.

He cups her face in his hand and pulls her into a kiss - long and lingering and sweet, full of promises he fully intends to keep over the next two days.

"Of course it's working," he whispers against her skin, and she laughs breathlessly, her arms wrapped around him and her body pressed close to his - as if she wants to melt into him completely. She untangles a hand from his hair and brushes her thumb over the mark on his cheek - already glowing white and tingling with quintessence.

"You know," she whispers, "you're very easily tempted."

"Maybe you're just irresistible," he counters, and she grins, even as he claims her lips again. He trails kisses down the side of her neck, searching for the right spot to make her gasp.

"So what do _you_ want to do?" she murmurs, and she's teasing, surely. Or maybe she just wants to hear him say it out loud.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks. "I want to make you glow again."

She chuckles in his ear, and tugs his head back so she can look down at him and meet his gaze.

"You trying to ruin me, Takashi?" she asks, and there's fire in her eyes and desire in her voice, and Shiro grins.

"You gonna let me?" he asks. He brushes his nose against hers, and she nods. She pulls him into another kiss, and he gives up trying to hold a conversation and just lets his body do the talking for a while.

 

When Freya brings up the lunch tray a few hours later, Shiro opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of linen pyjamas. The secondary marks still shine faintly on his chest and abdomen, and the glow in his cheeks is unmistakeable. Freya certainly does not miss it - or what it means.

"I have your lunch," she says, sounding rather deflated.

Allura gets up from the sofa and pads over to the door. Her bare legs stick out from under Shiro's shirt, which she is wearing because when he pulled her vest off earlier he threw it somewhere and now she can't find it. Freya watches her cross the room, marks shimmering, hair delightfully mussed up, and scowls.

"Thank you so much, Freya," Allura says sweetly. She takes the tray from the maid's hands and gives her a beaming smile.

Freya doesn't even bother to ask if they need anything else. She simply picks up the used breakfast tray and leaves. Shiro wonders if she's going downstairs to sulk.

"Do you enjoy making her jealous?" Shiro asks, as Allura lays out the lunch things.

"Whatever gives you that idea?" she says sweetly.

Maybe it's just part of the 'possessive wife' act. Or maybe it's payback for yesterday. Who knows. Shiro steps up behind Allura and wraps his arms around her waist, and she pauses in her task and half-turns her head to look at him.

"You know I'd pick you over anyone, right?" he murmurs.

She nods. "I know." But her smile is delighted nonetheless, and as she turns back to the table he catches the flush of pink in her cheeks.

 

This, then, is the pattern of their time at _The Jasmine Flower_. There isn't much to do except eat and sleep and rest, and spend time together - sometimes sitting and talking, or laughing at silly jokes - and sometimes entwined together, in the bed or on the couch, making the most of every moment they have. It feels like a dream; like a gift from the Goddess Herself.

They wake late, and take breakfast in the room, and then find ways to fill the time before lunch is brought up in the afternoon. Allura finds books of poetry on the shelves and reads some of it aloud, and Shiro sits with her feet in his lap and listens to her explain the history of the poems, or tell him stories, or just talk. Sometimes, they lie in the bath together, soaking in the heat and half-dozing in the steamy bathing room. Allura takes some time to meditate; they will be leaving Altea soon, and her connection with the land will inevitably weaken, and now is her last chance to strengthen that link before she is whisked away to the safety of Olkar.

But between all that, they make love, wrapped up in the feeling of desperate desire, lost in each other for hours at a time. Allura glows like the moon beneath his touch, and Shiro learns her body by heart, and they are glorious and wild and soft together; full of divine light and breathless joy.

The take dinner downstairs in the dining room, and sit for a while afterwards, listening to the music or dancing with the other guests. And then Shiro takes her back to the room and kisses her again and again; lays her out on the bedsheets and unravels her; lets her be his ruin and undoing. He does not regret any of it. He can't. The experience is too perfect; too shining and bright and wonderful to ever be something he could regret.

They awaken between first and second sleep, and get up to drink tea by the moonlight. Out in the wilds, there was never much to do in the midnight watch, except to sit up and rebuild the campfire and sip some water from the canteens, before rolling over and sleeping again. But here, in the inn, Allura wraps a blanket around herself and cuddles up to Shiro in front of the fireplace, and they sip tea and talk and laugh softly in the warm darkness, and fall into each other's arms all over again.

He does not tell her that he loves her. He calls her _marksglow_ , and she says it back in desperate whispers against his heated skin, but the _'I love you'_ remains unspoken. Allura can probably guess it, anyway, but Shiro keeps the words back. Sometimes, when the weight of them gets too much, they slip out in Hon-sun, breathed into her body between gasps and hungry, yearning kisses. But he cannot say it to her in Altean; not yet. Let that wait until Olkar, when he has a better idea of how long this will actually last.

Allura remains steadfast in her insistence that she wants to keep him around when they get to Olkarian, and she says it with such steel in her eyes that Shiro believes she means it. But exactly how that will be arranged remains vague. Deep down, Shiro suspects that the matter may be out of her hands, despite her best intentions. Between Olkar's internal politics, and the machinations of the army, the much-feared separation might come anyway. And if he doesn't tell her he's desperately in love with her, at least they can both fool themselves that this was a fling and nothing more, and maybe it will hurt less when the time comes.

And what if she does manage it? How long can this last, really? Allura is the exiled Princess of a conquered land; perhaps the most valuable thing she has in her possession right now is her own hand in marriage. A political match might be the only way to secure Altea's peaceful future. Perhaps Allura will marry Queen Ryner's daughter, in exchange for Olkar's help in ending the war - and Shiro will be sent away, out of sight and mind, as if he never existed and never mattered.

He knows he's getting ahead of himself. And maybe none of it will happen, and against all odds Allura will somehow secure his lasting presence at her side. It's just that… this is all so wildly beyond his most fanciful dreams he doesn't know what to make of it. He keeps expecting the whole thing to come crashing down around him. Allura, on the other hand, is brim-full of a sort of ironclad, infectious confidence. She has decided to keep him, so she's keeping him, and that's the end of it.

Maybe she'll manage it, too. But for the time being… let the _I love yous_ remain unspoken. Just in case. Just for now. And in the meantime, Shiro lets himself enjoy every moment with her. The future will come in its own unstoppable time, and it will bring whatever the Goddess intends. For now, they are still together, and that is already more than he had ever hoped for.

 

On the final night before their departure, they awake after first sleep as usual, and Allura gets to talking about Olkar.

"It's been ages since I went to Olkarian," she says, as she lies in Shiro's arms on the bed and he runs his fingers up and down her arm.

"What do you want to do first, when we get there?" he asks.

"Get some new clothes," Allura says, and he laughs.

"We have been wearing the same thing for weeks," he says. "Maybe I'll get another uniform."

"I'll get you something special to wear," she says. "As my personal guard and companion."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

She laughs, and presses a sleepy kiss to his lips. Now that they are so close to their destination, he cannot help but wonder how people will react to their relationship. Whether it has a label or not, they are still together, and it's bound to come out at some point.

"You promise you'll stay with me?" Allura asks.

He nods. "I promise."

Maybe it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks - Allura certainly doesn't seem to care. The cover of 'personal guard' is too obvious for anyone to miss the implications, but if it lets him stay by her side… he'll take it.

"We should get some sleep," he tells her. "We have an early start tomorrow."

She nods, and snuggles up close to him. He kisses her forehead, and watches her drift off to sleep in his arms.

This time tomorrow, they will be in Olkar. If all goes to plan, they will be there together, and he will get to hold her like this again. The hope blossoms in his heart, tiny but powerful, and he lets himself dream of more nights like this, and more days by her side, until he falls into restful sleep.

 

They wake in the early, quiet hours just after dawn, and prepare for their departure. Shiro left instructions with the kitchen last night to bring them up some breakfast before they go, and as they wait for the servant with the tray they wash and dress and pack their bags. Allura leaves the white gown draped over the sofa, and pulls on the tunic and leggings she wore in the wilds. Shiro helps her strap on the wrist and chest guards that go with the bow Katie gave her, and she ties back her hair with the headscarf he bought for her in Garrin.

They talk little as they get ready. Allura seems nervous; she fidgets with her belt and runs her fingers over the crystal pendant she still wears under her clothes. Shiro checks their knapsacks one last time, and buckles on his sword. He glances over at Allura, sitting by the fire, chewing on her bottom lip.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "I'm just on edge, that's all. It's nothing."

He moves to sit beside her, and takes her hand. She looks up at him with a tight smile.

"You sure?" he asks.

"I'm just worrying over nothing," she reassures him, but the concern still lingers in her eyes.

"We're nearly there," he says. "We just have to make it to the pier and get on the boat. You have the tickets?"

She nods, and pats her pocket. Shiro presses a kiss to her temple, and she squeezes his hand, and they sit and wait for the breakfast to arrive so that they can eat and be on their way.

The fire crackles in the grate and the sunlight edges through the windows as they wait, and an uneasy feeling creeps into Shiro's bones. Something doesn't feel right. The inn is too quiet; there's an indefinable air of tension hanging over the building. He might dismiss it as nerves and paranoia, but… Allura is also worried. And after years in the army, he's learned to trust his instincts. Something's wrong.

He stands up. "This is taking too long," he says. "We should just get going."

Allura nods, and she gets up and picks up her knapsack. Just as she is settling it on her back, the door to the room creaks open. Shiro tenses up - his hand flies to his sword - but it is just Imran, carrying a breakfast tray. The servant hurries across the room and shoves the tray roughly onto the table.

Oh, yeah. Something is _definitely_ wrong.

"What is it?" Shiro asks, before Imran even has a chance to say anything. The man looks at him, his eyes wide with fear, and wrings his hands together.

"You have to go," Imran says. "Don't go downstairs. Prince Lotor's waiting for you."

The words land like a punch in the gut, and a knot of raw fear tightens in Shiro's belly. Allura gasps, and covers her mouth with her hands. Shiro forces down his own anxiety, and grips Imran by the shoulders.

"How? How does he know we're here?"

"Some soldiers arrived at the Temple, somehow," Imran says. "They handed out posters. Offering a reward. Hedra… the money was too good, she told the soldiers… and Prince Lotor arrived this morning."

The innkeeper who would do anything if the money's right. He should have known. He pushes the thought down and focuses on finding out the facts on the ground.

"How many soldiers?" Shiro demands. "Did you see? How many are with him?"

"A dozen or so," Imran says. His voice trembles, and his eyes dart from Shiro's face to Allura, standing by the table with tears in her eyes.

"It's really you, isn't it?" he asks. "I'm so sorry, your highness. I didn't know what else to do. He's waiting for you downstairs. The soldiers will grab you both as soon as you go down."

Shiro thinks quickly. He has no time to let fear take hold; he has to make a plan to get out, and get Allura to safety. He summons up the calm focus of the battlefield and lets go of Imran's shoulders.

"Thank you," he says to the servant. "You should get somewhere safe."

Imran nods, and hurries out of the room with one last, fearful glance over his shoulder. Shiro turns to Allura, and she grips his arms with trembling hands.

"What do we do?" she asks. "He's here, he found us…"

"Focus, _Hime-sama_ ," he says. He cups her face in his hands; looks deep into her eyes. "We climb out the window. Escape over the roof. Here - take off your pack."

He helps her out of the knapsack and discards it by the door. They will not need its contents any more, and the packs will only slow them down. Allura pulls on her boots and picks up her bow, and Shiro pins his cloak around his shoulders. It is all done in a handful of heartbeats, quickly and silently; Allura too fearful to talk and Shiro saving his breath for their flight.

He crosses to the window and eases it open. The roof of the outhouse is only a few feet below the window ledge; from there, they can drop down onto another low shed and thence to the alleyway between the warehouses. Shiro glances around at the surrounding rooftops, but the way seems clear. He swings his leg over the sill and drops down onto the outbuilding, and beckons Allura to follow him. She climbs out, and he helps her down onto the roof, his hands on her waist and back to steady her. She is shaking with fear, but she doesn't say anything.

"Come on, _marksglow_ ," he whispers. He takes her hand and they creep along the rooftop, close to the wall of the warehouse, mindful of every step.

A yell from behind them has Shiro flattening himself against the wall, his arm over Allura's body. There - above them - a Galra guard stands on the roof of the inn, looking down at them. The guard raises her bow, and Shiro grabs Allura's hand and tugs her after him.

"Run!" he yells, and she needs no encouragement. They sprint along the roof as the first arrow clatters into the gravel beside them, and Shiro looks around frantically for any kind of cover.

The wall of the warehouse on their right dips abruptly, where the downslope of one roof section meets the upward angle of the next - and there is a gap, a narrow walkway between the roof segments, out of sight of the guard atop the inn. Shiro pulls Allura after him, and they duck down behind the cover of the gable. The next arrow clatters against the brickwork of the warehouse, and Allura lets out a tiny, terrified sob.

Shiro looks at her face. She is fighting back tears of panic, but her mouth is firmly clamped shut. She will not scream, or cry out, lest she give away their position. He squeezes her hand, and she meets his gaze.

"Come on," he murmurs. "We can make it. It's not far."

She nods, and grips his fingers tight. They creep along the walkway, between the sloping tiles and the skylights of the warehouse, and Shiro scans the rooftops for more signs of pursuit. There will be more soldiers, he knows that. The guard on the roof will raise the alarm, and then the rest of the troop will come after them, and their only hope is speed. He urges Allura onwards, quick and quiet, seeking a way down to the street below.

The walkway brings them out onto another flat terrace, and they hurry across the open space and jump the narrow gap between buildings, onto the sloping roof of some industrial workshop. In the distance, the tower of the skyboat dock rises into the sky ahead of them; a slender spire of white stone and golden metal spearing up into the sunlight, catching the light, calling them onwards to safety and escape. Shiro pushes down his own fear and grips Allura's hand as they sprint along the top of the buildings, scrambling from one tiled roof to the next.

Another yell goes up behind them - a cry of ' _there!_ ' and ' _that's them!_ '. Allura drops Shiro's hand and turns, her bow raised. Two Galra guards stand in the street below the building, the crowds scattering around them, screaming in fear. Allura takes aim and fires; the arrow hits one of the guards in the thigh. But the other guard raises his own bow, and more soldiers turn the corner, and Allura's next arrow goes wide.

"Come on!" Shiro calls. He pulls her after him, and she turns and runs. Arrows whip through the air around them, clattering into the tiles. One lands near Allura's feet; the tiles crack and buckle, and she slips and falls with a cry. The bow tumbles out of her hands and down onto the street below.

Shiro grabs her shoulders and hauls her upright; pulls her with him onto the next roof.

"Leave it!" he cries, and she does not even look back. They drop down onto a porch, and from there they scramble onto the ground.

The streets are busy, even at this early hour, but the sight of the Galra soldiers has people cowering in doorways or running for cover, and so the route towards the waterfront is clear. Shiro pushes Allura ahead of him, and they run - just run, without thought or reason, as fast as they can, towards the skyboats that will take them away from Lotor and his guards.

They turn the corner, skidding on the cobbles, panting for breath - and the main street opens up in front of them, wide and inviting, sloping down towards the wharfs and the skyboat docks. Shiro risks a glance behind them as they accelerate. More soldiers emerge from the gaps between buildings; more of Lotor's guards, weapons raised, running after them. He grabs Allura's wrist as they run, tethering them together as they sprint through the crowd, dodging carts and stalls and people.

The huge golden gates of the pier rise ahead of them, standing open in the morning air. Shocked and terrified faces turn towards them; the crowd parts and flees as they approach the gates.

Shiro skids to a halt on the cobbles, and turns around. Four soldiers bear down on them, and he draws his sword and pushes Allura behind him. These are not Lotor's well-trained Generals - they are just foot soldiers, all bigger and slower than Shiro, and he has the fire of desperation in his veins. He grits his teeth and meets them head-on.

They charge all together, weapons drawn, but he is faster than all of them. He takes down one; parries the stroke of a sword and stabs the second soldier in the belly. Turns - slashes out at the third - cuts the throat of the fourth. He barely has time to register the situation before it's over, and he's standing over four bleeding bodies whilst the locals scream and yell around him. He sheaths his sword and grabs Allura's hand again.

"There's more coming," she breathes, as they push through the gateway and flee down the pier. He takes her word for it. Of course there will be more of them - Lotor is no fool. But they are almost there. Almost home free.

They reach the gate at the end of the dock and dive through into the relative safety of the other side. Shiro shoves the gate closed behind them and drops the bar down; he finds a crate and pushes it in front as well, for good measure. Then he turns to take in the lay of the land.

Most of the workers on the dock have fled from the onrushing Galra soldiers, and the area behind the gates is deserted; the ticket booths stand empty, the overseers' posts are abandoned. He glances out at the lake's surface, and spots figures hiding on the jetties or heading out into the water on boats. Up above, the skyboats hang in the air, moored to the gantries. The sound of yelling drifts down to them, along with the general impression of frantic movement. The skyboats will cast off soon; the captains heading for the open skies to escape the danger below. They do not have much time.

"Takashi…" Allura's desperate voice makes him turn. Through the lattice in the gate, he sees what has her so worried: Prince Lotor is on the pier. He stands surrounded by four generals in uniform, and his men hurry down the walkway in formation. The generals bark instructions, and soldiers with clubs and crowbars charge forward towards the gates.

Shiro pulls Allura back as the first shuddering blow lands on the metalwork. The gates are sturdy, dwarf-made - but they will not last forever. They need to get up to the docks before the gates collapse or the boat leaves or both.

He turns to the glass elevator that will take them up to safety. It stands empty at the foot of the tower, abandoned by both passengers and overseers in the terror induced by Lotor's troops. The lights still hum; the runes glimmer faintly on the stonework, so the device is still powered up and ready to go. But the mechanism that controls it is outside, at the base of the tower. Not inside the elevator itself.

Allura hurries over to the controls, and Shiro casts a fearful glance at the shaking gateway and follows her. She clutches at the control lever and looks between the elevator and the mechanism, eyes frantic and wild. But there's no time. Another deafening thud lands on the gateway, and they are out of options.

"Get in," Shiro tells her. "I'll work the mechanism. You have to get up to the boat."

"What about you?" she asks. "How will you get up?"

"Allura…" He takes her shoulders in his hands. "The plan is still the plan. Get on the boat. I'll stay here and guard the mechanism. I'll make sure no one follows."

She shakes her head before he even finishes. Tears spill from her eyes, but her expression is fierce and determined.

"No!" she insists. "I'm not leaving you!"

"You have to!" he tells her. Fear and desperation grip his chest; make his lungs tight and his heart ache. But the plan is all they have. She is still the Princess; he is still just a guard. Here and now, that is all that matters.

"I won't go without you!" Allura says. And looking in her eyes… he believes her. She won't leave him. She will stay here, by his side - he can tell by the steel in her eyes and the set of her jaw. She will draw her knife and fight beside him; face danger and death with him, rather than go on alone. And then she will die, or be captured, or worse… all for him. For his sake.

But he absolutely cannot let that happen.

The clamour around the gate increases - yelling and shouting, and the sounds of metal bending under force. They will break through in a matter of seconds. There is no time for arguments.

Shiro sheaths his sword. There is only one thing left to do now.

He cups Allura's face in his hand and kisses her, one last time. Their lips meet, and he tries to memorise the shape of her; the feel of her; the warmth of her in his arms. He pulls back and sees her gazing at him, full of determination and fire.

"I love you," he says, and her eyes go wide in surprise. The tension leaves her body; she goes soft as the shock of his words registers.

And so she is not expecting it when he pushes her away from him, as hard as he can. She cries out and stumbles backwards, through the open glass doors and into the elevation device, landing sprawled on the floor. Shiro throws all his weight on the lever, and the doors glide shut - and Allura scrambles upright, tries to get to them, to keep them open - but they close with a firm click just as she gets her hands on the glass.

She meets his gaze, tears in her eyes, and beats on the doors - but it is too late. The elevator lurches and sets off up the tower, rising into the sky like a shimmering crystal, catching the sunlight. The glass muffles the sound of her voice as she calls out to him - yells his name - begs him to stop, to come after her, to let her out - but he can't. There is not much in life he can give her, but he can give her this.

He kisses his fingers and holds them up to her in one final farewell, and she collapses onto the floor of the elevator, hands still pressed to the windows, tears streaming down her cheeks, watching him the whole way as she rises into the sky. Shiro watches her for as long as he dares, because this is the last time he will ever see her. Then he takes a deep breath and turns around, and sets his back to the mechanism. He draws his sword and waits.

The gate is dented and mangled; the soldiers will soon break through. His job now is to defend the elevation device with his life, and buy Allura enough time to get on the skyboat and escape. Nothing else matters. He blinks back tears and grips his sword hilt and waits.

The gates burst open and the soldiers rush through, and suddenly there is no time to think - no time to regret or lament his decision. There is only the rush of battle and the instinct to survive.

But there are too many of them. They flood through the archway, pouring into the open space under the tower, and Shiro is vastly outnumbered. Maybe this is the Goddess's plan for him, then: to fight and die for Allura, to keep her safe, to love her only briefly and then give his life to secure her escape.

So be it.

The first of the soldiers charges the mechanism, and Shiro fights them off with a strike to the ribcage and hip that sends them limping away. He fights the next, and the next - slash, parry, cut, his sword a desperate blur - no time to think, only to react. The guards crowd around him, and his only advantage is his relative speed and agility compared to the larger opponents. He keeps his back to the mechanism and listens to the grind of the elevation device rising above him; listens for the moment the machinery winds to a stop and he will know Allura is safe. His sword is a blur around him - he does not dare stop moving, there are so many enemies to face.

A blade rakes across his ribcage, and he grunts in pain. Another blow lands on his shoulder, sharp and stinging, and he falters in his movements. The opening is enough for the soldier in front of him to push aside his sword and drive a spear into his abdomen. Shiro doubles over, his whole body alight with agony - but he has to stay upright. Allura needs him. He breaks the haft of the spear; swings out at his attacker, cuts them down; staggers sideways and drives his sword home into someone else's heart.

He pulls his sword clear and risks a glance up at the docks above him. The elevator halts at the top of the tower - Allura is almost safe. Almost free. He just has to guard the device long enough for her to get onto the skyboat, and then she is out of danger.

A sudden, searing pain cuts through his right arm, like a flash of white light. He yells in shock and lurches sideways unexpectedly. Spots dance in his vision, and his head spins, and his body suddenly feels like it doesn't belong to him.

He looks at his arm, and dimly registers that he can't see his hand or his sword. His arm should be there but it's not. Then a gauntleted fist punches him in the face, and he goes down on his back on the cobbles.

Helmeted faces loom in his vision, but he looks past them - up to the walkways in the air above, and the hum of activity around the skyboats. Through the haze of pain and blood loss that clouds his vision, he thinks he sees Allura - a tiny, frantic figure, leaning over the railing - and people around her, pulling her back, onto the waiting skyboat that bears the flag of Olkar… She is so small and far away, like a bright star in the sky winking down at him. But she is out of danger. She is alive.

The lights in the elevation device go off, and the glowing runes on the tower fade and dim. Someone high above must have shut down the power to the mechanism, to prevent Lotor and his troops coming up to attack the skyboats. Which means Allura is safe. She is on the skyboat that will take her to Olkar, and Lotor cannot follow, and she is safe.

Shiro lets out a sigh of relief. His right arm is nothing but a chasm of pain, and when he puts his left hand on his belly he finds blood under his fingers. But Allura made it to safety. That's all that matters.

He thinks about love, as he lies bleeding on the ground. Maybe he shouldn't have told Allura that he loves her. Maybe that was cruel, under the circumstances. But he will never get another chance to say it to her, and he wanted her to hear it at least once.

He wonders if she would have said it back.

His vision is getting dim, but he thinks he sees the skyboat detach from the dock and drift upwards, into the golden sunlight, leaving him behind in the dust. He hopes that Allura can forgive him.

Lotor appears above him, wearing a calculating scowl, and his general also comes into view - the one from the village. Acxa or whatever her name is.

"What should we do with this one?" she asks.

"I'm sure we'll find some use for him," Lotor says. His face gives nothing away. He tilts his head to one side, as if considering Shiro from all angles.

"I suppose you think this is very noble," he says.

Shiro opens his mouth to try and answer, but all that comes out is a hoarse cough, flecked with blood. This is pretty unfair. He's bleeding to death and all he has to look at is Lotor's ugly gloating face. And he can't even talk back. That's just _cruel_.

"I'll get my hands on your precious Princess," Lotor says. "It's just a shame you won't be around to see it."

He gives a brief nod to one of the soldiers. Shiro tries to speak again - or move, or _anything_ \- but the butt of a spear comes crashing down towards his brow, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks flung objects* I KNOW I'M SORRY IT'S JUST. look. Shiro started this story with two arms and no scar or white hair, and i need him to end this story with one arm and one prosthetic, so... he has to suffer a bit. but he's not dead, i promise. just. uh. bleeding. a lot.
> 
> *flees*


	16. spices and coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olkar, finally. plus: old friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew! so! this chapter is an extra long one. Chapter 15 was the end of the second act of the story, and this is the beginning of the third and final act, and i had an idea in mind for how i wanted to write this chapter. it ended up getting longer and longer, but for certain stylistic reasons i didn't want to break it in half, so i decided to leave it as one big chapter. think of it as a new season premiere special two-part episode! it's about twice the length of my usual updates, which i hope makes up for the uh. stunt. i pulled. last time. {coughs awkwardly}
> 
> ANYWAY here it is! hope you enjoy!

_There's stars above him. For a long time, that's the only thing that registers. Endless stars, wheeling gently against an impossibly dark sky._

_He stands up._

_Everything here is ghostly grey and white, as insubstantial as carved mist. He's standing in a field, but as he steps through it the grass melts and curls away into drifts of smoke, only to reform again after he passes._

_Mountains rise on the horizon, rolling over and onto each other, but they, too, are like ghosts._

_He can't remember where he was before this place, but for some reason he expects to be in pain. And yet he's not. Nothing hurts, here. Nothing aches._

_He has two arms. That's… right, isn't it? Why does he think he should only have one?_

_He finds a paved path hidden between the grass, and follows it towards a hill that rises ahead of him, shrouded in pale flowers. An archway of white stone stands at the hill's summit, and in this faint and fading world it is the only thing that looks solid and real._

_It's peaceful here, in this valley between the mountains, under an ageless sky strewn with stars. The echoes of old worries whisper in his head, but he can't pin them down. They're probably not that important._

_He reaches the top of the hill, and a flat, grassy plateau that stretches towards the archway. The air between the stone pillars shimmers and blurs, but scents and sounds drift through: flowers and herbs, spices and tea and sweet treats; the murmur of water running, the sound of birds chirping. Voices, too - some strangely familiar._

_This close, he can see colours through the gateway - the only colour in this whole place. The air shifts and moves, and he glimpses something beyond the arch that looks like a garden that stretches on for eternity._

_Two lions lie in the grass. One, glowing as white as a full moon; the other, as black as the night sky above him. They stand as he approaches, and he understands that there is no reason to be afraid._

_He stops in front of the gate. The Lions watch him, unmoving._

_He can pass through, if he wants to. The path leads him onwards; the Lions stand in silent approval. He can step through into that world of sunlight and laughter and familiar voices calling._

_It's just that… he's alone. And for some reason he feels like he shouldn't be. There should be someone here with him, making this journey by his side._

_He left someone, back in some other world._

_He left someone._

* * *

Allura stands on the bridge of the skyboat as the crew make ready for the descent towards the docks of Olkarian. Early morning sunlight streams through the huge windows that ring the flight deck on three sides, and the boat trembles and creaks in the wind as the crew work the levers and dials, calling out to each other in lilting, throaty Kari. Allura stands near the helm, staring out at the city that comes into view below her, only half-listening to the boaters' talk. She learnt Kari fluently as a child, of course, because High Kari is about as close as the continent gets to a common tongue. But the crew speak some regional Kari dialect she's not familiar with, and she can only make out about half of the words.

She holds the scarf that Shiro gave her in her hands, and runs it through her fingers like a string of prayer beads. What exactly she is praying for, she doesn't know. Shiro's parting words echo in her head - one last, desperate ' _I love you_ ' before he was ripped away from her. He looked so soft and sad as he said it, as he if knew he'd never get a chance to say it again.

Tears blur her vision, fracturing the morning light, and she blinks them back. She is the Princess of Altea, and her people need her to be strong. It was selfish of her to indulge in her feelings for Shiro in the first place, given how much is at stake. It's time to put aside any thought of him; focus on the task at hand, and the work that needs to be done to free her people.

But she doesn't know _how_. Shiro is gone, and he's not coming back, and she has to go on without him, and she has no idea how to do that.

Yesterday she was hysterical - screaming and sobbing with grief, beyond reason, too caught up in the storm of her own pain to think about what a scene she was making. Today she has to at least _try_ to compose herself. But there's this hole in her chest that won't stop aching, and every time she attempts to put on the mask of regal authority, she thinks of Shiro - and how he was supposed to be here with her, and he's not.

He's probably dead. She has to face the reality that he's probably dead. He did his duty, and gave his life for her, and whatever attachment they had on the road was always going to be temporary. She can't waste time or tears on him - not when her entire country suffers and burns at the hands of the Galra. _Be strong, Allura_. Keep going. Forget him.

But her heart refuses to accept that he is gone forever. And so even as she tells herself that there's no way he could have survived, some tiny, reckless part of her soul whispers back that he's still alive. They are meant to be together. They fit each other perfectly. How could he die when she still needs him?

But even if Shiro somehow survived the fight on the docks, Lotor has no reason to keep him alive. And from what she saw, he was badly injured in the battle that bought her escape. It would be foolish to cling to some fragile hope, as insubstantial as mist on the breeze. She should just accept that Shiro is gone for good, and find a way to carry on without him, so that his sacrifice isn't wasted. But that feels wrong, somehow. All twisted up and wrong.

Her fingers tighten around the juniberry-patterned scarf as a fresh wave of grief sends tears spilling down her cheeks. She scrubs them hastily away, and looks around to see if anyone noticed. But the Captain is engrossed in the delicate task of bringing the skyboat down towards the docks, and the crew are similarly occupied in working the mechanisms and reading the gauges and calling out instructions to each other as the vessel jolts and shakes in the updraft from below. Allura breathes a quiet sigh of relief. No one noticed her moment of weakness.

She picks out faces and tries to remember their names. Captain Pendry commands the boat: a middle-aged Olkari woman who wears a red and gold headscarf over the neat black uniform of the skyboat crew. The First Mate, Tarik: a tall, well-built Olkari man with a full beard and striking green eyes. He was the first to recognise her from the wanted posters Lotor handed out; Allura remembers his hands on her arms, pulling her up the gangplank to the safety of the skyboat, even as she screamed out to Shiro lying on the docks below her.

She shudders at the memory, and turns back to the window. Pendry was generous enough to give up the captain's quarters for her, once she found out her true identity. And the crew were very kind - they brought her food and refreshments and blankets; assured her they would deliver her safely to Olkar. They even sat with her whilst she cried her eyes out, choking on her grief and helplessness. It would be nice to say it helped to ease the heartache, but… the pain still engulfs her fully, even now. It takes all her willpower to push down the sobs that threaten to break out of her.

Now is not the time or the place. Even if all she wants to do is crawl into bed and stay there forever, she can't do that. There's work to be done, and she will have to meet with Queen Ryner and explain her position, and find a way to help all the refugees… She can't give in to her grief. Not for her people - and not for Shiro, either. He gave everything to get her to safety, and if she fails now - if she lets her devastation swallow her whole - then he will have died for nothing.

She looks down at the scarf in her hands, and runs her thumb over the embroidery. She still remembers Shiro's face when he gave it to her: adorably shy and awkward, not sure if he should be giving her gifts, not sure if she would like it… And the way he hugged her afterwards, his arms tightening around her, his breath warm on her neck as he told her he would do anything for her… She clears her throat, and dries her eyes on her sleeve. Shiro would tell her not to give up. He would tell her she's strong enough to face this, and to go on without him. So she has to try.

"Ladyship?" A voice beside her makes her startle, but it is just the cabin-boy with a tray of coffee in tiny cups. It smells delicious. Allura spent a fitful night in the captain's bed, tossing and turning, so used to sleeping beside Shiro that she found it impossible to sleep alone. The coffee smells like a gift from the Goddess Herself right now. She takes a cup and manages to summon enough of a smile to convey her thanks to the cabin-boy, and he moves on with the tray. The coffee is strong and sweet, and she can feel it warming her veins and chasing some of the weariness from her limbs as she turns back to the windows.

The clear morning light illuminates Olkarian, cupped in a valley between two spurs of the mountains. As the skyboat turns in a wide circle towards the docks, Allura takes in the familiar layout of the city. To the north, the valley opens out onto the plains, and a river runs all the way from the mountain slopes to the lowlands beyond, winding through the city like a sparkling ribbon. To the south, the buildings and streets of Olkarian rise up towards the head of the valley, and the plateau where the two rock spurs meet. There, the House of the Goddess perches high above the vale: a round tower of black stone that glistens under the sun's rays, standing at the centre of a ring of five white stone pillars, arranged like the five points of an alchemy circle.

The skyboat takes a long, lazy spiral over Olkarian as it drops down, and the circumnavigation carries them close to the House of the Goddess and the Sacred Terrace that surrounds it. The Terrace takes up much of the plateau, and consists of a paving of white marble, surrounding the House on all sides, and open to the air above. The southernmost edge of the Terrace runs right up to the mountain's rocky slope, but to the north ornate pillars flank the wide stairways that lead down the mountainside and into the city. Several fountains dot the Terrace, and there are shaded walkways on either side to shield visitors from the heat of the midday sun.

"Your highness?" Captain Pendry says, and Allura stirs herself from her thoughts and looks over at her.

"You should take a seat," Pendry says. "This part can get a little bumpy."

Tarik, the mate, shows Allura to a seat to one side of the bridge, and helps her get settled and strapped in. Pendry barks orders in Kari, and some of the crew don helmets and leather gloves, and pull thick goggles over their eyes.

"What are they doing?" Allura asks Tarik.

"Landing is a delicate procedure," he explains. "They need to go outside on the balloon and control the flaps and vents. And the lines that draw us into port."

Pendry gives a nod, and the crew open round hatches in the ceiling and climb through. The wind whips through the openings, tugging at Allura's hair, and through the glass ceiling of the bridge she watches the men and women swarm up the curved sides of the skyboat and start to work the mechanisms. The boat slows as it turns and gradually loses altitude, and the metal body of the gondola creaks and groans under the strain. Through the front windows, Allura glimpses the Olkarian docks below, and the signal lights flickering on the towers, guiding them into land.

The final stage of the descent involves a lot of endless shouting in Kari, and a lot of scurrying around on the rigging above them, but for all the frenetic activity the landing itself is masterfully smooth. With Pendry at the helm, scowling in concentration, they align safely with the docks; the crew throw out the lines, the dockhands tug them in, and the ship is secured. Allura lets out a sigh of relief, and stands up.

"Wait here for a moment, your highness," Captain Pendry says. "I'll fetch a couple of watchmen from the dock to escort you down to the city."

The Captain exchanges a few words in Kari with Tarik, and with one final glance over her shoulder she heads out of the bridge, across a gangplank that has been swung out onto the docks. Allura follows Tarik to an observation deck at the back of the room, that looks out over the rest of the skyboat. From here, she can see her people, mingled with the usual crowds. So many of them look… lost. Weary and alone. Scared refugees, fleeing with nothing but the clothes on their backs, hoping to find peace and safety in a new land…

But she is just like them. Shiro told her that once, in Barrius. It didn't feel true at the time, but now… She shakes her head. She has so much work to do, and so many people rely on her, and she wanted to do all of this with Shiro by her side to help her. But he's gone, and now she's all alone.

Some of the passengers give her curious looks as they disembark the skyboat and head for the port. She wonders how many of them saw her on the pier at Naxum - or afterwards, on the skyboat, weeping in despair - and put the pieces together and realised she is the last Princess of Altea. She has kept her identity hidden for so long that it feels almost odd to be openly acknowledged as royalty. That is a role she needs to reclaim, now. Out in the wilds, she wasn't princess of anything. But here, she needs to be a leader and an inspiration for her people.

Captain Pendry appears below them in the crowd, trailed by two guards wearing the green and gold uniforms of the Olkarian Watch. They wend through the people and climb the stairs to the observation deck.

"Your highness," Pendry says. "I found a couple of guards to accompany you."

Allura straightens up, and pushes down her melancholy thoughts. She even manages a weak smile.

"Thank you for all your help, Captain," she says. "I owe you a great debt."

"It was our honour to help you, Princess," Pendry says. She clasps Allura's hand, and behind her, Tarik places a hand on his heart and gives her a half-bow. Allura leaves them to manage the ship, and heads out onto the docks of Olkarian.

The Olkarian sky port hangs off the mountainside, halfway down one of the stone spurs that ring the valley. Metal walkways jut out from the slopes, supported by wires and crystals, and the skyboats come to rest at the end of each ramp. Closer to the mountain, a large terrace clings to the rocks, and several buildings and structures fill the space.

Allura follows the two watchmen from Pendry's ship to the terrace, walking over the gangway that hangs impossibly in the air. The forested slopes fall away below her, criss-crossed with pathways and strung with elevation devices that carry people down towards the city.

"This way, please, your highness," one of the guards says, as they cross the terrace, weaving in between the other passengers. He leads her to a stone structure close to the mountain, and a glass-fronted elevator that rests nearby. By the looks of things, this particular device is only for the use of guards or official personnel; compared to the other elevators whizzing off down the slopes, this one stands quiet and idle.

The guards say nothing as they step into the device and begin the long plunge down to the valley - but Allura catches them glancing at her now and then. They are both Olkari, with the characteristic tanned skin and dark hair of their people. They must be surprised to see an Altean Princess in their midst.

"Thank you for your assistance," Allura says to them. "I appreciate your help."

"That's alright, majesty," the taller of the two says. "It's our duty to help those in need."

"Should we take you to the palace, or…?" the second one asks.

Allura shakes her head. "I must go to the Altean Embassy, first, and make a proper announcement to Queen Ryner via our ambassador there."

"Just as you say, majesty," the first one says.

They step out of the elevator onto another terrace - this one paved in white flagstones and bustling with activity. Several elevation mechanisms land and depart from the open space - all in a row, near the rocky face of the mountain. Here, there are more buildings and stalls; several warehouses full of goods; Watch outposts and horses and passengers and ticket booths… all the accoutrements of a busy sky port. They are still higher than most of the city, but several staircases and sloping roads lead off the terrace and take people down into the valley.

The City of a Thousand Steps, they call it. Olkarian is renowned for its stairs and terraces and hills.

Through some negotiation, the guards secure a horse-drawn carriage to take Allura into the city proper. The Royal Quarter is across the valley, and the embassies are all in the same area. Allura settles into the back of the carriage and the two guards climb up front, and before long they are trundling down the road towards Olkarian.

Allura watches out the window as the environment changes from tree-covered mountain slopes, to paved streets and buildings. Houses spring up on either side of the road, and they pass shop fronts and market places and busy, happy crowds. The mood here is so different from Altea; there is no oppressive fear of the Galra, no sense of injustice at a country turned upside down by invasion.

Olkar is warmer than Altea, and the local fashions reflect the climate. The workers favour the traditional, loose-fitting _shalwar_ trousers, worn under tunics or _kurtas_ , and many of them cover their heads against the growing heat of the day. The streets are wide and lined with trees to offer as much shade as possible, and at every major intersection tiled water fountains provide refreshment, free of charge.

As Allura's carriage passes out of the industrial areas and into the streets where people live, she spies the famous covered markets of Olkarian: trellises mounted between buildings like rooves, overgrown with flowering vines that block the sun. Stalls and shopfronts line the shaded spaces below, and the pleasant smells of spices and coffee drift up into the morning air. In the markets, the workers mingle side-by-side with wealthy society ladies, dressed in long _abayas_ in bright colours, their headscarves ornately tied around their heads. Gentlemen in long robes haggle over prices, or sit and enjoy the coffee served by the vendors in tiny porcelain cups.

The sights and sounds of Olkarian used to delight Allura when she was a child. And over the weeks she has spent in the wild, she let herself imagine showing Shiro this side of the city; maybe stopping at the market to enjoy coffee and _rahat_ , or browsing the stalls, or enjoying the public parks. She slumps back in the carriage and stares at the ceiling. There are so many things she wanted to show him, and now he's… gone.

She returns, once again, to the foolish hope that he is still alive. And it _is_ foolishness. She knows that. She watched him fight on the docks; saw him fall under the weight of Lotor's attack. And yet some tiny scrap of her heart wants to keep believing that he survived, somehow. Because the alternative is that he bled out somewhere, alone and scared, and died with no one there to offer comfort in his last moments.

That thought is too awful to bear, and Allura buries her face in her hands as the tears come in earnest once again. If only she had some way of _knowing_ , or of reaching him… She should have gone back for him. She should have fought harder and pushed her way back into the elevation device and gone down and confronted Lotor right there.

And then what? That's where she gets stuck. What would she possibly do? Fight off Lotor and all his troops with one knife? Rage and frustration war in her heart, harried by the guilt of having left Shiro behind - and shame at her own selfish desires. She has no right to mourn Shiro. He never should have been hers in the first place. What was she thinking? A Princess and her guard? They were always going to get ripped apart, and she never should have let herself dream of keeping him by her side…

She tries to push down the tumult of her feelings, but they bubble up in ugly sobs that wrack her body and leave her hoarse and shaking. She should have gone back for him. He loved her, fiercely and selflessly, and he gave up everything for her, and she should have gone back and saved him.

She knows what Shiro would say to that, though. He would be furious with her if she ran back down to the docks; if she risked her life for him. They spent so much time together she can all-but hear his voice, reminding her of their mission, and her role and value compared to his. She is the Princess of Altea, after all; the most powerful Blessed the land has ever known, and the only person capable of healing the kingdom after the ravages of Haggar's corruption. Shiro would tell her that his life is less important than hers - that the plan they made so long ago is based on reason and logic, and a cold calculation of which of them is expendable and which of them is not.

But she _hates_ it. She hates that he did it and she hates that she was powerless to prevent it. But more than anything else, she hates that Shiro was _right_. He sacrificed himself for her because he knew she could save Altea. She is loath to admit it, but… his actions might have saved not only her own life, but the lives of thousands of Alteans - and the fate of an entire country. How can she be angry at him? How can she object? It's not like he _wanted_ to leave her side. The memory of their parting comes back to her in painful detail: Shiro's face, upturned towards her as she rose into the sky, and the sorrowful look in his eyes as he bade her farewell. He gave up everything for her. She owes it to him to keep going; to carry on and be strong, to finish what they started together.

If saving her was his last act in life, she has to honour him by not wasting the freedom he bought for her.

Allura knows it all. It makes perfect sense. And yet she still yearns for his hand in hers and his arm around her waist and his soft smile and the playful glint in his eyes. That tiny flicker of fire in her heart refuses to believe he is actually dead, and it bids her run back to him at once; leave everything, take the next boat back to Naxum, ride into Oriande alone and rip Shiro out of Lotor's grasp.

She kicks at the carriage seat in frustration as another wave of tears engulfs her. How can her life be worth more than someone else's? It isn't _right_. But… that is how it is. Ever since she was a child, she was told she was the most powerful Blessed the land had ever seen. Back then, it didn't mean much for the practical day-to-day organisation of her life, except that she was afforded more privileges than the other Blessed, and asked to perform more Rituals. But now - in the aftermath of King Zarkon's invasion - now, her gift takes on a different meaning. It has become its own terrible burden. Allura is the only one who can save Altea, and so it is her fate to watch other people sacrifice for her and die for her; to watch them lay down their lives to keep her safe. First her mother, during the attack on the Castle; and now Shiro, securing her escape from Naxum.

There is nothing she can do about it, but still. The wrongness of it eats away at her. She wanted Shiro to be here with her, and he's not, and she can't even fault his decision in the heat of the moment. If their positions were reversed, wouldn't she do the exact same thing for him?

A loud rap on the carriage's roof hatch jolts her from her misery, and she glances up.

"We're nearly at the embassy, majesty," the guard calls down.

Allura nods her acknowledgment, and tries to compose herself. She scrubs the tears from her face and clears her throat and hopes to the Goddess she doesn't look as miserable and wretched as she feels. Her people need her. And Shiro would tell her to be strong.

The Altean Embassy is an old building of creamy stone, set back from the road behind a courtyard laid out in the fashion of Olkarian. A fountain bubbles and spills into a square pool, lined in blue and green tiles, and low benches flank the pathways that lead under the trees. The Embassy surrounds the courtyard on three sides, its walls trailed with vines and adorned in covered balconies that overlook the garden below.

Even before Allura steps out of the carriage, she senses the bustle and tension of the place. A long line of people snakes across the courtyard, all the way to the gate, and the guards at the entrance cast worried glances over the crowd and the street outside. The two watchmen from the docks walk alongside Allura as she crosses the courtyard, and she scans the faces of those waiting in line. All Altean, by the marks on their cheeks; all looking… lost. It's a bad sign.

Her guards exchange a few words with the doorman, and Allura crosses the threshold into the cool interior of the embassy. She has been here before, of course - played here as a child - and in some ways it is just as she remembered. A huge hall, two storeys high, lined with tall, arched windows and hung with chandeliers. Desks and booths and counters, and officials in neat uniforms carting stacks of paper. The Great Seal of the Blessed is inlaid into the floor - the symbolic emblem of Altea - and the sunlight filtering in the windows, catching motes of dust in the air and glinting off the polished brass and wood of the furnishings.

All that is the same. But the rest… the rest is vastly different. The hall is thronged with people, lined up or seated in rows, some clutching small bundles of personal possessions and some with nothing but the clothes they're wearing. The counters where the clerks sit - usually calm and sedate - are a frantic blur of activity. The officials scurry around with ledgers and papers, and a number of makeshift desks have been set up in a row, to deal with the influx of people. The overseers direct newcomers to designated areas, and take names, and listen to complaints; maids hurry out of the kitchens with water and bread and fruits to feed the growing crowd of people occupying the floor space.

Allura's heart sinks. Judging by the faces in the crowd, things at the Embassy are not going well. The clerks look overwhelmed and overworked, struggling to deal with the sheer number of people flowing through the door. And the refugees look… utterly hopeless. That's the part that hurts the most. The light in their eyes is gone; their pride and determination and optimism has winked out. They're all so _lost_. Their king and queen have died, their country is overrun by the Galra; they have no idea what to do next.

Allura takes in their dejected faces, and sees her own hopelessness reflected in their eyes. The realisation hits her like a spear to the chest. She lost Shiro, and it robbed her of the light and the fire that kept her going. The fierce determination to survive and free her people vanished when he was ripped away from her, and now she just has heartache and pain and sorrow and all she wants to do is curl up in a ball and cry until she sinks into oblivion.

But her people need her. She does not have the luxury of giving up all hope and sinking into the welcoming embrace of deathly despair. Her people need their Princess to lead them - to tell them how to keep going. To help them hope again.

If Shiro were here, he would squeeze her hand and give her a reassuring smile. Allura does not know how to go on without him. She's just feeling her way in the dark, hoping that it's enough.

She passes the lines of people until she comes to the overseer's desk, set back a little from the rest. The overseer is a middle-aged Altean man with yellow cheek marks and streaks of grey in his beard. He gives Allura a sceptical look.

"I am Princess Allura," she says, by way of introduction. "Please inform the Ambassador that I am here, and I require his presence immediately."

"I'm sorry, ladyship," the overseer says. "But unless you can prove you're the Princess, I can't let you see the Ambassador just like that."

Allura raises an eyebrow at him, and glances behind him. An official family portrait hangs on the wall - her mother and father, and herself seated in front of them. Surely the overseer can see the resemblance? But then again… she no longer has flowing white hair. She's not wearing a gown or jewellery or her tiara. Compared to how she looked six weeks ago, when she fled Oriande, she must be completely unrecognisable. Anyone could walk in here claiming to be the lost Princess of Altea, at this point.

She could just disappear into anonymity - and it's tempting. Just sink into grief; let the pain take her, become nothing and no one. Leave the struggle and strife to someone else. She could walk out and join the line of people; give a false name, claim a false life. The burden of leadership would fall to someone else, and she could be alone with her sorrow.

But Shiro gave his life to save her. She can't betray him like that. He did his duty - as painful and heart-breaking as it was - and now it is Allura's turn to do hers.

Besides. If he is still alive - if, by some staggering miracle of the Goddess, he survived - her only hope of saving him is by saving Altea.

She draws herself up, and gives the overseer her most imperious look.

"I am Princess Allura of Altea," she repeats, "and I can prove it."

She turns back to the hall behind her, and marches across the floor until she stands in the centre of the Great Seal. It is not merely symbolic: the roundel is a working alchemy circle, carved out in intricate runes, and it responds only to the Blessed.

Allura stands in the middle of the ring and concentrates. She summons quintessence - simple energy in the form of light, nothing more - and drops to her knees in the circle. The light flows out from her hands to the carvings, flooding the lines of the Seal, until the whole floor glows blue-white. Her marks tingle and glow, and she lets the quintessence ripple out of her, filling the room with light and warmth.

The murmur of the crowd turns to astonished gasps as she stands up, her marks still shimmering, and faces the crowd. She watches realisation dawn; watches their eyes dart from her to the painting on the wall behind her, as they come to the inevitable conclusion. A cheer goes up from someone nearby, followed by another, and the whole crowd presses forward, gathering around her where she stands in a circle of light.

The guards intervene to hold people back, but Allura holds up her hand to forestall any ugliness or violence. She raises her voice to be heard over the growing noise of the crowd.

"I am Princess Allura of Altea, the last of the royal line, and rightful heir to the throne," she declares, and the crowd quiets as her words sink in. "I know you are all scared. I know that the situation in our country is bleak. But Altea still needs you. I promise to do everything in my power to restore and heal our land, so that you can go home. So that _I_ can go home. Please - remain strong. Keep some faith alive in your hearts. All is not lost for Altea. Not while I am still alive to fight for it."

She stops, and looks around her. This time, the murmur of the crowd is more hopeful. A few people cheer and applaud; some are in tears, or hugging their companions. She sees light and hope return to their faces; the spark comes back into their eyes. She feels her own hope returning as she takes in the dawning joy in their expressions. Shiro showed her what it meant to be strong - showed her how much strength she already possessed. Now she must use it, even if he's not here to help her. If his final gift to her was her life and safety and freedom, she will make the most of what he gave her, and use that gift to help her people return home.

A commotion behind her makes her turn. A set of double-doors in the far wall burst open, and the ambassador himself stands in the doorway, face pulled into a scowl. Despite his entitlement to a fancy official robe, he wears only a neat suit in the Altean style, with his medal of office pinned to the chest. Aside from a few more grey hairs, he looks exactly as Allura remembers: long legs, sparkling eyes, and a bright orange moustache that seems to have a life of its own.

"What's all the ruckus?" he demands as he enters - but his eyes fall immediately to Allura, and light up in recognition.

"Allura?" he breathes, not daring to believe it.

The crowds part, and Allura hurries across the hall and flings herself into his arms, heedless of protocol or decorum. The overwhelming joy of seeing a familiar, trusted, friendly face brings tears to her eyes, and she hugs the ambassador tightly. He has known her since she was a child, and he hugs her back with all the warmth of an uncle greeting a beloved niece.

"Coran," she whispers to him. "I'm so relieved to see you."

"It's alright, Princess," he murmurs. "You're safe now. I thought… well, I thought the worst."

She pulls back to look at him properly, and he gives her a smile tinged with sadness.

"When we heard about Oriande, I thought for sure we'd lost you," he says.

"I managed to escape," she says simply. "It's a long story."

"Well, come along, then," Coran says, some of his composure returning. "Let's get you inside, and you can tell me all about it."

* * *

Imran sits in the wrecked dining room of _The Jasmine Flower_ , his head pounding. Molly tuts at him, and presses a bandage to the cut on his forehead that's still bleeding enthusiastically and dripping crimson all over his shirt.

That one's gonna leave a scar. He can feel it.

"Why did you have to rush in and attack that guard?" Molly demands. "You could've got yourself killed."

Imran winces as she dabs forcefully at the wound. "We had to. They weren't going to leave on their own."

"You should have left it to Freya," Molly says. "She's always beating up guards."

Imran glances across the room to where Freya stands, a scowl on her face and a heavy cast-iron frying pan clutched in one hand. She did some pretty vicious damage with it earlier. Some of the Galra she hit never got up again.

Hedra sits under Freya's watchful gaze, tied to a chair with some ripped-up lengths of table cloths. A few of the other servants linger at the edges of the room, but the events of the last couple of days have left everyone rattled, and they don't dare come closer.

"What are we going to do with her?" Molly asks in a whisper, as she wraps a bandage around Imran's head. Her eyes stray to the innkeeper, but she quickly looks away.

Imran turns to the other servants, and realises they're all watching him. Well. He was the one who told them to attack the Galra soldiers left in the inn, and to restrain Hedra. Their boss. No wonder they're all looking at him.

He gets up and limps over to Hedra's chair. The soldier who gave him the gash over his eye also punch him pretty hard in the ribs before the other servants intervened. Luckily, Prince Lotor only left six guards at the inn; but it was still a tricky fight to take them all down. Molly trails after him, still fussing, but he holds up a hand to wave her off. Hedra glares at him all the way across the room until he stands in front of her and pulls the gag out of her mouth.

"Why did you do it?" he asks.

"The money was good," Hedra says scornfully.

"That was our Princess!" Molly wrings the roll of bandages in her hands, and tears glimmer in her eyes. "How could you do that? She's the only one who can save Altea!"

"I don't care about politics," Hedra spits. "I told you. The money was good. Now untie me, and you can all go back to your jobs, and we'll forget this nonsense ever happened."

"No," Imran cuts in. "You don't work here anymore. The inn's ours now."

"You can't take my inn!" Hedra pulls at the restraints on her hands and wrists, and the ties creak but hold firm. "I worked for years to get this place! You untie me _right now_ , Imran!"

"You shut your treacherous mouth," Freya warns. "You're staying right there. The Sheriff's coming to take you away."

Hedra yells a string of cuss words and tugs at the bindings, but Freya clamps a hand on the back of the chair and holds it in place. She shoves the gag back into Hedra's mouth and gives Imran an expectant look.

"Now what?" she asks.

"You're seriously fine with this?" Molly asks. "I thought you might…"

Freya bristles, and folds her arms, the frying pan still clanking in her hand. "You thought I might what? Commit treason because I didn't get to sleep with some guy?"

"Some guy? He was Princess Allura's personal guard!"

"Well I didn't know that at the time, did I?"

"Alright, enough!" Imran cuts them off before the argument can gain legs and start kicking. "We still need to decide what to do next."

"I say we keep running the inn," Freya supplies. "We did most of the work, anyway."

"You want to just carry on like normal?" Molly asks.

Imran shakes his head. "We have to do more than that."

He looks around the room, at the scared faces of the servants, and Hedra sitting under her storm cloud looking sullen. Molly and Freya watch him expectantly, and he realises that he is in charge, now. He clears his throat, and pulls them both back towards the bar where Hedra can't overhear them.

"We might be the only people who know the truth about Princess Allura," he says. "We know she escaped Altea before Prince Lotor captured her. So we should tell people that the Princess is safe."

"Do you think she's coming back?" Molly says quietly.

"She has to," Imran says. "She wouldn't abandon us. She'll come back and save us, and we have to be ready when she does."

"What does that mean?" Freya asks.

Imran glances around at their faces, and lowers his voice. "You know there's already groups of people trying to resist and fight back. Well - we can help them, now. We have an inn. We can use it as a base."

"I don't know…" Molly says, but Freya's face lights up with wicked glee.

"I'm in," she says. She hefts the frying pan in her hand. "I'm always up for beating on some guards."

"We can send messages on the skyboats," Imran goes on. "Try and get word out to Princess Allura, wherever she is. So she knows what's going on in Altea."

"This seems really risky," Molly says.

Imran puts his hand on her shoulder. "I know. But we have to try. Otherwise Naxum is going to get overrun just like the rest of Altea."

Molly takes a deep breath, and squares her shoulders.

"Alright," she says. "I'm in. Now, what do we do first?"

* * *

Once Allura gets to Ambassador Coran's office, the well-oiled official machinery of the embassy takes over. From there, everything happens swiftly and efficiently.

Servants are summoned and duly dispatched to prepare the royal suite; maids are sent out for clothes; a late brunch is brought up from the kitchen. A herald comes running up the stairs and waits by the desk as Coran writes out an official proclamation of Princess Allura's arrival, and seals it with the emblem of Altea. The herald hurries out to take it to the royal palace, and as they wait for a response, Allura sits and eats and gives Coran the abridged story of her escape from Oriande.

"So Captain Shiro was with you the whole journey?" Coran asks. "That was a stroke of luck."

"Yes," Allura says, her voice hollow. "I wouldn't have made it without him."

She looks down at her lap, and the patterned headscarf that Shiro gave her. Right now, the embroidered flowers feel like an encoded message - one she cannot tell to anyone else. How can she possibly explain to Coran how much Shiro meant to her? She was never supposed to get attached to him. A Princess is not supposed to fall for her guard.

"I'm sorry to hear he didn't make it," Coran goes on. "He was a lovely chap. Met him a few times. Always very polite and thoughtful."

"Yes, he was," Allura says. "He saved my life."

"He was a brave man," Coran says. He leans over, and lays a sympathetic hand on Allura's arm. She looks up into his eyes - flooded with kindness and warmth - and summons a weak smile.

"You're here, now," Coran says. "That's what matters. We'll get this straightened out, don't you worry."

Allura manages a tiny half-smile; but talking about Shiro is still too painful. She settles on an alternative topic instead.

"Tell me about the refugees," she says. "Are there many of them?"

Coran begins to describe the situation in detail, but before he can get far, a knock on the door interrupts him. The herald steps back into the room, somewhat out of breath, and announces that Queen Ryner will attend upon Princess Allura at the Embassy immediately.

"She's on her way now," the herald adds. "She'll be here any minute."

Coran tsks and bustles Allura out of the room, and rattles off orders to the servants to get some refreshments set up in the royal suite. Allura barely has time to wash her face and straighten her clothes before the doorman runs upstairs to announce that Queen Ryner is on her way inside. As Coran hurries down the stairs to meet her, the maids show Allura into the drawing room of the suite, where a spread of tea and fruits has been laid out on a low table between the sofas.

She arrived in the Embassy barely an hour ago, and Queen Ryner is already on her way up the stairs. Allura didn't even have time to change - she is still wearing the grey tunic and leggings she wore in the wilds; she still has Shiro's knife strapped to her belt. Everything is happening so fast she barely has time to catch her breath.

This is why she came here, she reminds herself. The endless trek across the wilds; the nights spent huddled up in the cold; the fear and the turmoil, and Shiro's last desperate sacrifice - it was all for this. So that she could sit here, in Olkar, and ask Queen Ryner for help. She has to set aside her grief and rise to the occasion.

The door opens, and Allura stands up, hands brushing her tunic self-consciously. Coran enters first, followed by Queen Ryner's retinue. Several handmaids step into the room, wearing _shalwar kameez_ in a distinctive dark grey, the colours of their buttons indicating their rank within the royal household. The guards wear black, accented with deep purple, beneath their leather armour; they take up station around the room, in front of the windows and doors. Several clerks follow them, wearing the black _shalwar_ and _kurta_ of the civil servants of Olkar; most of them bear the green and ivory buttons and accents of administrative staff.

Finally, Queen Ryner herself sweeps into the room, and she is the embodiment of regal grace and charm. She is a tall, slim woman, her face beautiful in her age - her tan skin creased with laughter lines, her eyes bright with the wisdom of years. She wears a long gown of purple and gold, effortlessly understated, and a circlet sits over her purple _hijab_. Delicate gold chains trail from the circlet to frame her face, and the rings on her fingers catch the light as she crosses the room and comes to a halt in front of Allura.

Allura fights the urge to curtsey, as she used to when she came here with her father. Back then, she was simply a Princess - now she is a Queen-in-waiting. She is, technically, Queen Ryner's equal. Even if Queen Ryner used to tell her off for running around the palace with sticks, back when she was six years old. How times have changed.

So she doesn't curtsey - instead, she places a hand on her heart and gives Queen Ryner a half-bow, as is customary in Olkarian. To Allura's surprise, Queen Ryner returns the gesture.

"Princess Allura," she says, in High Kari, her voice rich and warm. "We are honoured to welcome you to Olkar in your hour of need."

"Queen Ryner," Allura replies. "My thanks and endless gratitude for your assistance at this difficult time."

Queen Ryner's face softens, now that the formalities are out of the way. She reaches for Allura's hand.

"It's good to see you, Allura," she says. "When I heard what happened in Oriande, I feared the worst. Please. Shall we sit?"

She gestures to the sofas, and Allura follows her lead and sits down by the table. Maids appear silently to pour the tea, and Queen Ryner straightens her skirts and folds her hands in her lap, the very picture of royal composure. By comparison, Allura feels positively shabby. She tries not to fiddle with her clothes.

"Forgive me," Allura says, "but I have a favour to ask of you before we talk."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the velvet bag that the Matriarch gave her in the dwarf delve. The truthstone is the only thing she took from her knapsack before they fled Naxum, and she has kept it tucked in her pocket ever since. What she is asking of Queen Ryner might come across as impertinent, but… she has to know for sure. After everything that's happened, she has to be certain.

"A truthstone?" Ryner asks. "That is an ancient custom indeed."

"I know," Allura says. "And I would not use it unless times were very desperate."

She cradles the stone in her hand and summons a trickle of quintessence - enough to activate the clear crystal and make it glow softly white.

"I am Princess Allura of Altea," she says. "I am the last of my house. I fled Oriande when my family were betrayed and murdered, and I came to Olkar seeking refuge and help."

She passes the truthstone to Queen Ryner, who lets no objection or offence show on her face as she takes it out of Allura's hands and holds it in her own. The gem pulses gently, its white light softly illuminating the room.

"I am Queen Ryner of Olkar," Ryner says. "I am loyal to you, Princess Allura, and Olkar will remain Altea's closest friend and ally. As we have remained for centuries. Whatever help is in my power to give, it will be offered to you. You have my word. We will not betray you to the Galra. We will not abandon Altea to this fate."

Allura's eyes flicker from Ryner's face to the truthstone in her hand, but the crystal remains pure white - no hint of red. She is telling the truth. Allura lets out a sigh of relief that gives way to a desperate sob, before she can stop it. She covers her mouth with her hand and tries to fight back tears, but the relief of knowing she is finally safe - truly, actually safe - hits her like a wave. If Queen Ryner is still loyal, then everything she went through - everything she lost, everything she gave up - it was all worth it in the end.

Ryner tuts quietly, and when Allura looks up she finds the Queen's eyes on her, full of sympathy.

"Were you truly so worried?" she asks. "What happened? We heard only part of the story."

Allura wipes her face and takes a steadying breath. She slips the truthstone back in its velvet pouch as she tries to marshal her thoughts, so that she can tell Queen Ryner what happened.

"We were betrayed," she says, after a moment. "People my father trusted turned on him. They sided with King Zarkon of the Galra Empire."

"Do you know why?" Ryner asks. "Were they offered some reward?"

"I don't know," Allura says. "They must have been offered something. Either that, or they hid some deep and festering hatred for years."

Ryner looks down at her clasped hands, lost in thought.

"It would be instructive to find out why they betrayed you," she says. "But please - tell me the whole story. As much as you can bear to speak of."

So Allura sits and tells it. She is more used to telling stories in Altean than in High Kari, but she knows the language well enough to express herself, even if she hesitates over a few of the words. She recounts as much as she can remember of the betrayal - who sided with Zarkon, which faces she saw in the throne room that day, watching her father die - and details everything she learned of Haggar's corruption of the land. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a couple of the clerks making notes - no doubt to help Olkar's military leaders assess the situation.

She skims much of the detail of her flight through the Wilds, and explains simply that Prince Lotor himself pursued her, and almost caught up to her in Naxum, but that she managed to escape. When she is done with the tale, she sits back in silence and lets Queen Ryner think over her words.

She is playing a delicate game here. Queen Ryner might be loyal, and helpful, and a willing and honest ally - but there are still other forces at play besides simple friendship. Olkar is a large and ancient country, gradually expanding over the centuries to envelop more regions and territories into its borders. As such, Olkar now sits at the heart of its own protectorate, surrounded by semi-autonomous principalities that used to be their own independent states. Most of them came to be part of the _Salamat Olkari_ through relying on Olkar - a much larger and more powerful nation - for defence and trade.

Would Queen Ryner view Altea as a future Olkari territory? A land to be brought into the embrace of Olkar's ever-growing influence? There were certainly Olkari rulers in the past who saw Altea that way. Ryner has never given any sign of such an ambition, but still. Altea is vulnerable right now - attacked, invaded, occupied by enemy forces. And Allura has very little to bargain with. Queen Ryner might place conditions on any help she offers, and one of the conditions might be that Altea signs the _Salamat Olkari_ and joins the Olkari protectorate. And then what?

She can trust Queen Ryner - the truthstone assures that - but a ruler must consider even the most cynical of possibilities. King Alfor used to think about this kind of thing all the time. Allura thought she would have years to learn from him, and ask him how best to manage it, and how to balance the different forces tugging her in all directions. But he's not here. And she has to do it all alone.

"This is a grave situation, indeed," Queen Ryner says, and Allura pushes down her tumultuous thoughts and meets the Queen's gaze. "To learn that the betrayal ran so deep… we have had some news from Altea, of course. We pieced some of it together. But your account fills in many gaps."

"It was a coup," Allura says. "They must have planned it for years."

"And what is it that you want now, Princess?" Ryner asks. Her expression is unreadable, and she fixes Allura with a piercing gaze.

"I want my country back," Allura says. The fire rises up inside her, fuelled by anger and pain and sorrow, and suddenly she is furious. "I want justice for my family, and I want the Galra out of my kingdom. I want my people set free."

Queen Ryner nods slowly, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

"Good," she says. "Then we can help you."

"Thank you," Allura says. "I don't know how I can repay you."

Queen Ryner sits back and watches her, head tilted slightly to the side. She was always a formidable presence when Allura was a child - almost terrifying, actually - and as an adult, she can understand why. Queen Ryner is sharp and intelligent, and gives very little away. It is probably what has allowed her to rule Olkar with a deft hand for decades, guiding the country to unprecedented peace and prosperity. Allura feels like she should be taking notes.

 "It is not a question of repayment," Queen Ryner says. "Olkar and Altea have been close allies for centuries. The help I offer now is the help of a friend, in an hour of need."

"That's very generous of you."

"Perhaps. But consider, also, that our alliance with Altea is of great benefit to Olkar. Altea is our most profitable trading partner. Advances in Altean alchemy have greatly helped us in enriching our own mechanisms and devices. It is in Olkar's best interests to see Altea freed, and the Galra removed from your lands."

Allura deflates slightly. Put like that, it seems pretty calculating. Ryner catches the change in her expression, and smiles warmly.

"You did not think of it that way?" she asks.

"I… no. I didn't," Allura admits.

"A Queen must think of such things," Ryner goes on. "Consider the benefits from our point of view, as well as your own. The Galra occupation of Altea is a detriment to Olkar's long-term well-being. And so I will help you regain your throne. Because we are old friends, and our countries have always supported each other. But also because it is in the best interests of my people to do so. I serve them, just as you serve Altea, now."

Allura nods. It dawns on her that Ryner is giving her the kind of advice her father might have imparted, if he were alive to guide her, and she swallows down the lump in her throat.

"Thank you," she says simply.

"You will make a fine Queen, Allura," Ryner tells her. "And you _will_ be Queen of Altea, as long as I have anything to do with it."

She stands up, and her retinue takes it as a cue to also rise to their feet. The meeting is over, it seems.

"I will leave you to take some rest," Queen Ryner says. "I will summon the war council. I am sure you have matters to attend to here in the Embassy, so we will meet again tomorrow and discuss what can be done. In the meantime, you are more than welcome to stay at the palace, of course. I can have rooms prepared for you."

"That's very kind of you," Allura says. "But I should remain here, with my people. I want to stay close to them."

Ryner nods. "Of course." She beckons to one of the clerks, who steps forward - a young woman with a pretty, round face, and dark curls half-hidden beneath the loose drape of her ivory-and-green _dupatta_. She wears the neat black suit of the administrative staff, adorned with green buttons, and the gold accents on her scarf and collar mark her out as a senior clerk.

"This is Mizrin, one of my secretaries," Ryner says. "She will organise anything you need. The servants of the royal household are at your disposal, as are the guards."

Allura nods her thanks, and the guards move towards the doors as Queen Ryner prepares to depart. Allura hesitates. What she wants to ask next is unjustifiably selfish. She is the Queen-in-waiting, now, and she should stop thinking about Shiro and focus instead on her duty as Altea's ruler. She can't possibly waste Queen Ryner's time by asking her to look for him; to take effort and resources away from the important business of war to search for one man who's probably dead, anyway.

But the question gnaws at her heart. She has to at least _ask_.

"Queen Ryner," she says, and the woman turns back to her expectantly.

Allura takes a deep breath. "There was a man with me," she says. "A royal guard from Oriande. He accompanied me on the journey to Naxum. But… he didn't make it. He fought Prince Lotor on the docks, to buy me time to escape. I need to know what happened to him."

Her voice shakes as she says it, but she forces herself to meet Ryner's gaze. The Queen's eyes are warm with sympathy, but if she suspects exactly why Allura is so keen to learn of the fate of a lowly guard, she does not give any sign of it. She simply nods.

"You wish to know if he survived?" she asks gently. "If he is a prisoner?"

"Yes. I know it's unlikely that he's alive. But… I wouldn't have made it here without him. I owe him my life." _And my heart, too_. But she lets that thought remain unspoken.

"Very well." Ryner gestures at one of the clerks, who opens a notebook. "Describe him. I will see what can be found out. We have had some information from Altea, and there are ways to find out more."

She does not say _spies_. It is an open secret that Olkar and Altea leave spies in each other's territories, but it is considered impolite to mention it. It's just one of those funny diplomatic traditions. Who knew they would one day prove so useful.

"His name is Captain Takashi Shirogane," Allura says. That much is easy. But how can she describe him? Kind eyes, a gentle smile; an irreverent sense of humour and an infectious laugh. Soft skin, firm to the touch; hair that begs to be ruffled and played with; hands that know their way around every curve of her body and every hidden delight.

She can't say any of that.

"He's Hanyini," she says instead. "Tall and well-built. Black hair, with a streak of white at the brow. Grey eyes. In the fight I think… I think his arm was cut off. But I didn't see clearly."

Tears escape her before she can blink them back. The horror of Shiro's fight on the pier replays in her mind, and she has to bite her lip to keep from breaking down again. She clenches her fists at her sides and meets Queen Ryner's gaze. The older woman nods, and lays a sympathetic hand on Allura's shoulder.

"We will do what we can," she says. "By the Grace of the Goddess, perhaps he is still alive."

_Perhaps_ , Allura thinks. The seed of foolish hope blossoms in her soul, like a tiny starlit flower uncurling in the dark. Maybe he's still out there waiting for her. Maybe - by the Goddess's blessing - they can find their way back to each other.

* * *

"Hurry up!" Shay calls over her shoulder. Hunk trails behind her, his arms full of blueprints and scrolls and a worried frown plastered across his face. Shay tuts and turns back, and relieves him of some of his unnecessary documents.

"I don't know why you brought all this," she mutters, as she helps him rearrange the piles.

"Well, I thought there might be questions about using the delves for transport, so I brought the layouts," Hunk says. "And then if they ask about designs for mechanisms I needed some examples. And the alchemy books, just in case they want to discuss the crystals…"

"But you don't need to carry all of this to _every_ meeting," Shay points out.

"I just… want to be prepared."

Shay softens, and smiles at him. It's nerves, of course. Hunk always gets anxious about formal events, and this is about as big and fancy and formal as they come.

"You'll be fine," she says. "My grandmother will be there, too."

"That's what I'm worried about," Hunk mutters, and Shay pretends not to hear it.

"Come _on_ ," she says. "If we're late we won't get good seats. And then you won't get to show anyone your highly important documents."

"See, I sense you're making fun of me, but it's not gonna work."

Shay grins at him, and turns back to the tunnel ahead. They emerge around a corner into a wide passageway, two storeys high and lined with marble pillars. A steady flow of people moves towards the double doors at the end of the corridor that lead to the most sacred and ancient meeting place of the dwarves - the Underhall.

Hunk fidgets with the stack of documents as they join the queue of people moving down the corridor, and Shay places a comforting hand on his arm. Dwarves from all over the Balmeran delves crowd around them, moving swiftly towards the Underhall, mostly talking quietly amongst themselves. Finally, the flow of the crowd brings them to the threshold, and they step inside.

Underhall opens up in front of them - a vast, vaulted cavern hung with natural stalactites and illuminated by glowing crystals, set into the walls and ceilings in geometric patterns. The natural walls were polished into a smooth finish centuries ago by the first dwarf tribes to mine this deep into the mountains, and the sloping floor is set with paving slabs and demarcated into tiers and terraces. Ancient runes mark the walls, long since faded with time, their meanings lost to the ages. The ruins of statues stand in alcoves high above the floor, but whom they depict, and the nature of their deeds… that, too, is lost in the unwritten history of the ancestors of dwarvenkind.

Shay leads Hunk down the steps cut between the terraces, towards the circular open space at the centre of the cavern's floor. There, the representatives of every tribe and clan in Balmera province sit on benches, mostly talking amongst themselves, awaiting the emergence of their leaders and the start of the meeting.

Underhall is the heart of the Balmeran mountain range - connected to every delve, accessible to every tribe and clan - ancient, neutral territory where the most important meetings have always been held. In the shimmering light of coloured crystals, dwarves from all over the mountains find their seats and wait for the council to begin. Shay tugs Hunk towards a bench near the other representatives from their tribe, and they take their places and wait.

The tribal Matriarchs emerge from a small doorway set beneath one of the tiers, and seat themselves behind a long table on one of the terraces, overlooking the circle below. Their advisors and assistants sit or stand around them, and a hush falls over the Underhall. The meeting is about to begin.

Shay's Grandmother stands up, and the eyes of the collected dwarves all turn to her. She wears a formal robe of red and bronze, and the rings on her fingers glint in the light as she holds up a hand in greeting.

"I am Matriarch Tiyanay of the Goldrock Tribe," she declares. "My heart beats for the mountains."

"Our hearts beat for the mountains," the crowd murmurs in response.

"We are gathered here to speak of the future of Altea," Matriarch Tiyanay continues. "The Kingdom Above finds itself facing grave times. Although the mountains will protect us, the dangers of Altea will become our concern eventually. There is talk of corruption in the very land itself."

Her words cause a ripple of concern to run through the assembled clans, and she holds up her hand again for silence.

"The Balmeran tribes have always been loyal to Altea," she says. "And now Altea needs us, more than they ever have in the past. The Galra have conquered the Kingdom Above. Princess Allura was the only survivor of the attack on Oriande. She will need our help in order to return to Altea and restore our lands."

She pauses, and in the breathless silence Shay glances around at the faces of the crowd. The dwarf tribes have kept to themselves in the past. Sometimes, they have simply watched and waited in their delves as troubles raged in the surface world above them. But this is different. This is a threat to the very land itself - in the face of Queen Haggar's corruption, not even the mountains will be spared.

"I have called this meeting to ask the tribes to stand with Goldrock, and with Altea," the Matriarch goes on. "If we do not, the contamination of the land will spread to all of us, and Altea will be lost forever. Who will aid us? Who will help us win back the Kingdom Above?"

Shay holds her breath and watches; beside her, Hunk taps his foot and pulls a face. The Matriarchs must have discussed the matter already, of course; but the issue has to be put to a vote. Such is the way of the dwarf tribes. They must wait for their clans to decide.

The rustle of movement makes Shay turn. On the terrace behind her, several members of the Brightdelve Clan stand up - casting their votes in favour of offering aid. A few more follow their lead. On the other side of the Underhall, a brief whispered discussion echoes up towards the crystal ceiling, before a row of delegates from the Copperhorn Tribe all stand up in unison. More representatives follow, from all sides of the cavern; one by one or in groups, some straight away and some after muttered conversations, or glances at their neighbours. Before long, everyone in the Underhall is standing.

The members from Goldrock vote last, because their Matriarch was the one who brought the request. Shay is the first to stand, followed by Hunk, and then the rest of their Tribe. The vote is complete, and unanimous. The dwarf tribes will help Altea.

Matriarch Tiyanay nods slowly, her eyes sparkling.

"It is well," she says. "Then let us discuss how we can aid Altea. And how we can bring its lost Princess home."

* * *

Despite Queen Ryner's urging that she get some rest, Allura finds that she cannot settle. There is work to be done at the Embassy; her people have been left too long without a leader. Coran has done his best in the interim, but in the absence of any firm news from the country, most of the Alteans feared the worst. They have been planning for a future where they have no king or queen to rule them, and no country to go back to. But Allura's return changed all that, and there is suddenly a lot of work to be done.

The overall mood around the Embassy gradually lifts as news of Allura's presence spreads to the growing crowds outside. A buzz settles over the building: hope and optimism, maybe even excitement. Allura sits in Coran's office as he talks her through the situation with the refugees and supply lines and escape routes and means of gathering information, and the servants and clerks bustle in and out bringing refreshments or papers or messages. They all look at Allura with bright, hopeful eyes, and she makes a point to smile at them warmly and thank them for their service.

But her own heart sinks, even as the spirits of her people rise. Because the more she sees of Coran's work, the more she realises the true, daunting size of the task that faces her.

Returning to Altea will be no easy feat. And in truth, she never expected it to be, it's just that… it's so much harder than she anticipated. Altea is virtually closed to the world - it is hard to even send messages in and out of the country. The steady trickle of refugees bring with them desperate tales of others left behind, of refugee camps across the mountains and plains, of border crossings closed off and kept under Galra guard. Even entering the country at this point is almost impossible. And she saw for herself the slow, inexorable spread of the Galra forces throughout the kingdom - and the damage and corruption they brought with them. Her task is not only to free Altea, but also to cleanse it and undo the damage of Haggar's perverted magic. The more she sees and hears, the more impossible it seems.

Perhaps it only feels so hopeless because she expected to have Shiro with her to help her. More than once, in her discussions with Coran, she catches herself glancing over to the chair next to her, seeking Shiro's opinion on something. Or even just his smile, or the reassurance of his presence. Every time, she is confronted with an empty space where he should be, and her heart sinks. She feels the loss of him like a physical ache. He should be here with her. She can't explain it. Being without him makes everything feel all… wrong. Twisted up and crumpled. She can't seem to get the world straight in her head.

By the time the sun has set, Allura is exhausted and miserable. The evening call to prayer echoes across the valley, sung out from the minarets of the prayer halls all across the city, and Allura finally drags her weary feet to her bedroom. She flops down on the bed, and wordlessly lets the maid help her change and brush out her hair whilst she sips herbal tea and tries to soothe her aching heart.

Once the maid leaves her alone, she makes her evening devotions to the Goddess. Out on the road, she kept up only the shorter, simpler morning prayer. But here, in the safety of Olkar, she feels the pull in her soul to increase her ritual worship. She kneels on the floor in the soft light of the lamps and murmurs the words of the Evening Rite, and when she is done she cups her hands in front of her face and whispers a supplication to the Goddess.

"Please let him be alive," she begs. "Please. I can't do this without him. I can't live without him. Please keep him safe."

It doesn't seem like enough.

She climbs into bed and tries to get comfortable. It has been an age since she slept on an actual, full-sized bed, furnished in pillows and throws and blankets. It should feel luxurious; a relief, after six long weeks spent sleeping on the ground. But instead it just feels enormous and empty. She cannot settle. She needs Shiro - his arms around her, his lips pressed soft to her skin, the warmth of his body next to hers. But he's gone, and she has only the empty comfort of luxury instead. She wraps herself in the blankets and cushions and closes her eyes.

Tears come instead of sleep, as the weight of the day's events settles over her restless mind. Every feeling she pushed down behind a mask of composure comes pouring out of her, shaking her body in huge, wracking sobs that leave her wrung out and choking for air. She cries until she cannot breathe; until she is exhausted beyond sense or reason.

At some point she falls asleep, and in her tumultuous dreams she sees Shiro on the pier once more, covered in blood, begging her to come back - but hands hold her, restrain her, pull her away from him, and she rises up into the sky and leaves him behind to die.

* * *

The rumble of summer thunder shakes the hilltops of the Northern Wilds, chasing the lightening that flickers in the sky, and Matt pulls his cloak tighter around him as he hurries down the hill to the old barn near the foot of the valley. Katie scurries after him, slipping on the damp gravel of the path, a lantern clutched in her hand. Sunset was less than an hour ago, but the storm has darkened the sky so much it's hard to see more than a few paces ahead.

"Matt, wait up!" Katie whispers, her voice small over the sound of the rain.

"Well, hurry up then!" he replies. "I didn't want you to come anyway."

"Oh, like you could organise a rebellion without me," Katie mutters. "You can't even organise your own room."

Matt scowls in annoyance, but he lets the comment slide. In all honesty, bringing Katie along was a matter of necessity. She gets nosy when she senses he's up to something, and it's better to include her in the secret from the get-go rather than have her blurt it out at the dinner table later.

They reach the barn, and Matt raps a distinctive pattern on the door. He pauses, and counts to five, and then taps out the same pattern again. The barn door creaks open, and the light of a fire spills out into the gloom.

"You look like a drowned rat," Nyma says, without preamble. "Get inside. Oh, hey, Pigeon."

Katie grins at the nickname - she'll take 'pigeon' or 'pidge' from Nyma, but not Matt, judging by how many objects she's thrown at him when he's tried it. He hurries into the relative warmth of the barn and Katie follows behind him. The rest of the group are already seated around a firepit, talking quietly amongst themselves.

The rebellion.

It's a concept he's still getting used to. He's never done anything like this, and now… he tries to straighten his back, but Nyma claps him hard on the shoulder, making him sag slightly with the force.

"We got some new faces," she says cheerfully.

Looking around the circle, Matt can see that she's right. The usual suspects are all here: Katie, settling in next to Rolo from a few farms over. Nyma, of course, who Matt can't keep out of his business with a crowbar, but that's alright. Petra, whose family owns a shop in Garrin. But tonight, there's also Tidus, the blacksmith's apprentice; and Robert and Mina, who raise horses in the next valley. And someone he doesn't recognise: a young woman wearing a huge black pointy hat and a several crystal pendants over her black dress. Her hair is also bright pink.

"This is Lilian," Nyma says. "She's Blessed."

"I'm not Blessed, I'm a witch," Lilian says. "Nyma said if I joined your rebellion, I could curse people."

"She's going to curse the Galra soldiers," Rolo supplies, a little too enthusiastically.

"Oh. Well. That's nice," Matt says.

"How do you get your hair to turn pink?" Katie asks.

Lilian runs a hand through the waves of her hair that fall around her shoulders. "It's just a little alchemical magic," she says with a smile.

"Is that really a good use of your talents?" Matt asks.

Lilian narrows her eyes at him. "I can leave, you know."

"No! No. It's fine. We're happy to have you."

Matt looks around the circle. The firelight casts long shadows in the barn, and the old building creaks and groans in the wind. Everyone looks up at him expectantly. They're not much of a fighting force - but maybe they can still make a difference.

"Alright. Well. Thank you for coming," he says. Nyma gives him an encouraging smile, and he ploughs onward. "We're here to discuss how we can fight back against the Galra. We've all heard the rumours that Princes Allura survived, and that she's on the run. That means she'll come back one day. And when she does, she's going to find at least a few of us ready to fight for her."

The fledgling rebellion greets this with nods and murmurs of agreement. Even Lilian, who is ostensibly only in it for the cursing. Nyma stands up, and places a hand on Matt's shoulder.

"I know everything's kinda bleak right now," she says. "But there's things we can do to disrupt the Galra and make life miserable for them. I'm not gonna just sit back and watch them push people around. So we're gonna come up with some ways to push back."

"I can curse them right now if you want," Lilian says. She pats the bag at her side, which clinks. "I've got all the stuff right here."

"Great!" Nyma says. "But we also need some direct action. They rounded up a lot of the Blessed, so you're gonna have to do a lot of healing work for people. In secret, of course."

"The Galra troops set up a supply route through our valley," Mina offers. "We've been thinking about ways to block the road."

"Good idea," Matt says. "And there's a warehouse in Garrin where they store their rations. I think we should raid it and steal some of their supplies."

"I'm in," says Petra, and Tidus nods too.

Matt takes in their determined expressions, and smiles grimly. The group may be small. And maybe all they can do is overturn a few wagons and pinch a few loaves of bread. But anything that makes life harder for the Galra is worth it, just on principle. They have to start somewhere, after all.

"Alright," he says, sitting down on a crate. The others draw closer, conspiratorially, and in the flickering light of the fire they turn their eyes to him and wait. "So let's plan how we're going to do this…"

* * *

Allura arises early the next day, partly out of necessity and partly because her fitful dreams make it hard to sleep for long. Over a breakfast of eggs and bread and salads and olives, Coran briefs her on what to expect at the meeting with Queen Ryner, before he bustles off to prepare the necessary documents with the clerks. Allura is left in her suite, trying to decide what to wear.

After weeks of wearing whatever clothes were convenient, she finds herself spoilt for choice. The maids bring out gowns and tunics and shirts and lay them all out, and Allura tries to figure out the most appropriate outfit for a formal meeting with the Queen and her military advisors.

There's a rather nice tunic in dusky pink, with matching loose _shalwar_ in the Olkari style - it looks comfortable and practical. Should she wear that? She doesn't want anything _too_ fancy - it would be deathly rude to upstage Queen Ryner in her own kingdom. And she is all too aware that her own country is currently closed to her. She is a Princess cut adrift. Perhaps something modest and understated, in that case? To convey the proper humility of her position.

But she is also the Queen-in-waiting; the unjustly deposed ruler of a land in need of help. She needs to _look_ the part - especially after riding in on a skyboat in rags, with nothing to her name but whatever keepsakes she managed to stow about her person. It is important that people see her as a Queen, and not simply another refugee. No one will take her seriously otherwise.

In the end, she picks a long gown in the colours of Altea - white and blue, edged in gold - and dispatches a handmaid to ask Coran to fetch a royal circlet out of the Embassy's safe. The dress is cut in the Olkari style, with long sleeves and a wide, sweeping skirt, and Allura drapes the accompanying gauze scarf over her shoulder, where the maid secures it with a pin, so that it trails artfully down her back. She pulls up her hair and picks out a pair of large, gold earrings. With the addition of the tiara, the effect is suitably regal without appearing too grand. The rest will be down to her demeanour once she gets to the meeting.

She desperately wishes she had Shiro with her. She could have asked him for his opinion on the dress; held back her hair whilst he hung her mother's pendant gently around her neck. They could have walked into the meeting together, and she could have easily justified his presence as her personal guard and military advisor. He'd know more about this kind of thing, anyway. She could have done with his advice and support and just… his hand in hers and his reassuring smile and the knowledge that he was safe and waiting for her.

She blinks back tears before they can get the better of her. The embroidered headscarf still sits on her nightstand, and she folds it carefully and tucks it into her pocket, along with the truthstone. Coran knocks at the door a few minutes later, and the maids follow her down the stairs to the waiting carriage that will take them to the palace.

The ride across the city is not long: the royal palace is only a few streets away from the Embassy, and since Queen Ryner sent a carriage for them, they are able to pass swiftly through the gates and up the long, tree-lined avenue that leads to the palace itself. They pull into a paved courtyard, surrounded by covered cloisters where trailing vines climb the archways, their delicate flowers offering a pleasant scent to the air.

The palace is a vast, rambling complex of cream stone, where corridors open out into huge vaulted halls, and arched doorways lead out into hidden gardens, and covered walkways wend between towers and courtyards and sparkling fountains. As a child, Allura played in many of the castle's hidden spaces, running in and out of the terraces with Ryner's daughter Hafidah, or climbing the walls to watch the sunset and listen to the call to prayer ring out from the minarets. As an adult, she sometimes accompanied her father and mother to meetings of state in Queen Ryner's office, and attended official banquets in the great halls.

Today, however, she comes as a Queen-in-waiting. The senior secretary who greets them at the courtyard leads them straight inside and into a part of the palace Allura has never visited before: the war rooms.

They follow the secretary through an antechamber lined with antique weapons and suits of armour, and two guards stand aside to let them pass into the meeting room. Allura lets Coran enter first, and steps in after him, trying not to let her nerves show on her face. The war chamber is long and rectangular, lined with pillars and lit by latticed windows set high up in the walls. A huge map table occupies the central space, and Queen Ryner and her advisors sit or stand around it, talking in low voices and pointing at various features of the terrain. The map shows Olkar and the surrounding countries - including Altea.

Queen Ryner stands when Allura enters, and beckons her over.

"Thank you for joining us, Princess," she says. "Please - take a seat beside me."

Allura crosses the room and takes the offered chair - conscious at every step of the eyes on her. The room is full of Ryner's advisors and military personnel, no doubt all forming their own opinions on the Princess of Altea and her precise working relationship with their Queen. By seating Allura beside her, Queen Ryner is conveying a certain message: that they are friends and allies, working side-by-side. It might be advantageous in winning the trust of the rest of Ryner's court, but it has its downsides: Allura will appear subservient to Queen Ryner as long as she is here. Right now, she is so helpless that she has little choice in the matter; but it is a dynamic that ought to be revisited in the future.

How did her father juggle all these factors? Allura has no idea. It's her first morning on the job and she's already exhausted.

"General Brina will brief you on our current situation," Ryner says, as Allura settles into her seat and a clerk hands her a cup of mint tea. "I'm afraid matters are rather complicated; perhaps you can help us fill in some details. So far, we have focused our efforts on containment - preventing the spread of the Galra forces into our own territories. However, now that you have joined us, we will begin to look at plans to invade and retake Altea."

Ryner nods at one of the military figures seated around the table - a handsome woman with her hair in two tight braids and the emblem of a deer on her breastplate. She has a glint in her eyes that suggests she is only ever one ill-judged remark away from starting a fight, which she would almost certainly win. She stands up and strides around the map, one hand on the hilt of her sword.

"So far, the Galra forces have not spread beyond the borders of Altea," she says. "That works to our advantage. Our intelligence reports suggest that most of the Galra forces are concentrated around Oriande. Along with King Zarkon and the royal family."

"They are interested in the Temples," Allura says. "Queen Haggar made portals to many of the Temples in Altea, allowing soldiers to travel from one town to the other. And Prince Lotor followed me across the Wilds. He may not be in Oriande."

General Brina nods. "If we are to launch a successful invasion, we need to do so at a time when they're all in Oriande."

She points at the map - at Altea's capitol city, flanked by forests on one side and facing the lowlands on the other, with the broad River Teandis flowing through it.

"We need to strike here - Oriande," Brina goes on. "Eliminate King Zarkon and take back the capitol. Oriande is a fortified city. If we invade from another point and move inland towards the capitol, the Galra can hole up there and defend it. So we need a quick, decisive strike on Oriande. That's the heart of the invasion."

"You are talking about launching a surprise attack," Allura says. "How long will that take?"

"Around six months," General Brina says, and Allura's heart sinks.

Six months. Half a year. At this rate, she will not see Altea again until the winter. She did not expect the reclaiming of her country to be easy, but the enormity of the task hits her all over again. There will be no swift return to Altea, for her or her people.

"Why so long?" she asks. "Can it not be done sooner?"

General Brina glances at Queen Ryner, who nods ever so slightly.

"This is not a straightforward plan, your highness," Brina says. There's no note of apology in her voice - only the firm conviction of someone who makes strategies like this for a living.

"We will need help," Queen Ryner adds. "You will need to contact Altea's allies for reinforcements."

"We'll also need to use some of their territories as staging posts for the invasion," Brina goes on. "Marmora, for example - we'd like to station troops there near the border."

"Marmora is loyal to the Galra Empire," Allura says. "I doubt that will be possible."

"Then we need to consider other alternatives," Brina says briskly. "We need to move troops in secret, without the Galra finding out. We need to find our access points. Once we retake Oriande, we'll need soldiers to march outwards, rounding up any remnants of the Galra occupation. This won't be an easy task."

"We might have help from within Altea," Allura says. "The guard who accompanied me to Naxum - he planted the seeds of rebellion with the Altean army. Some of the soldiers will take our side."

Brina shakes her head. "You can't rely on that, majesty," she says ruefully. "We have no way of communicating with any army rebellion. No contacts we can trust."

"You have Captain Shiro," Allura says. "If he survived and was taken back to Oriande, he can be trusted."

Queen Ryner lays a soothing hand on her arm. "If he survived, he would be a prisoner. We don't know how much influence he would have. Or if it would even be possible to get messages to him."

"But you will try?" Allura asks.

Queen Ryner gives her a sympathetic look. And Allura hates how small and scared she sounds; hates how her voice almost breaks as she asks. She is Altea's rightful Queen, and here - in the war rooms of Olkar - she needs to be the strong and decisive leader that her people crave. But when it comes to Shiro, she has no composure. She is not a Princess; she is just a desperate young woman nursing a broken heart.

"Of course we will try," Ryner says. "You have my word on that. His description will be passed to our operatives in the country with the next batch of messages. We are just waiting for a safe window of opportunity to contact them."

Allura deflates, and looks down at her hands in her lap. She will not cry in front of all these people. But the pain of her position robs her of the breath in her chest. Everything from here on out is difficult and arduous; every step, every action, will take weeks or months to complete.

Shiro would know what to say in this moment - he would have some sort of meaningful contribution to make. She can imagine him all too well, standing by the map with General Brina, discussing strategy and logistics; turning to her with a smile and a conspiratorial wink. He would make the whole thing feel easier.

"We cannot count on help from within Altea," General Brina says. "If we get there and find the army ready to aid us, so much the better. But we shouldn't plan on it. We need to be ready to succeed without internal help."

Allura meets her gaze, and nods slowly. "I have allies in the wider region. But I am not sure who can be trusted. We should keep my presence in Olkar a secret, until we know who will take our side."

"I agree," Queen Ryner says. "Everything about this must be planned in secret, until we are ready to act. And in the meantime, we can take some practical steps to help the Alteans who are already here."

Because they will be here a while. The realisation sinks into Allura's heart like a stone. Six months. At least. And so much work to be done; so many meetings to hold, letters to write, allies to contact; so many plans to make for how to help her people whilst they are here. At least she has Coran and Queen Ryner to help her. But the person she really wants is not here, and it might be weeks before she even finds out for certain if he survived.

He _has_ to be alive. She won't give up on him. She will find him and go back for him and save him, no matter how long it takes. Weeks - months - even years. She will not leave him behind in some Galra prison to be forgotten.

She straightens her back, and meets Queen Ryner's gaze.

"We have a lot of work to do," she says. "Let's get started."

* * *

The Galra guards walk the perimeter wall in pairs, in a pattern. Lance timed it, because if he crosses the courtyard at the wrong moment, he'll get a spear to the chest. He waits by the outhouses, flattened against the stone wall, watching and counting. Keith waits behind him, muttering impatiently.

"Come on, come on," Keith says, and Lance smothers the urge to elbow him in the ribs. Almost there. Three… two…

"Go," he hisses, and dashes across the open space to an archway hidden in shadow. Keith rolls in beside him - literally rolls, head over heels on the floor, which is ridiculous. _Show off_.

They pause and wait for any signs of pursuit or trouble. But the guards continue on their circuits, and Lance sighs with relief. He eases open the door behind him, and they slip inside.

"You couldn't have picked somewhere cleaner?" Keith asks.

Lance scowls. "No one comes here."

They are in the part of the Castle complex that was badly fire damaged during the Galra attack; since that night, the whole wing has been closed off. The place smells of damp soot and rot, and the charred ruins of furniture and tapestries litter the hallway where they stand. Faint moonlight leaks in through the windows, and Lance beckons Keith along a passageway and up a spiral flight of stairs.

They climb several storeys, ducking past the window slits and picking their way over fallen debris, until they reach the upper floor landing. Lance raps a code on the door, and after a couple of seconds, it creaks open.

"Lance! Finally!"

The door opens wider, revealing Nadia's face to go with her voice, and she beckons them both inside. The room at the top of the tower is relatively undamaged, compared to the floors below, but black soot marks still cake two of the four walls. Soldiers in the uniform of the Altean guards stand in the shadows; some of them watch the windows, and some of them watch each other. There's no light in the room. Nadia probably didn't let them light any lamps, for fear they'd be seen by the Galra patrols.

The soldiers catch sight of Keith, and many of them stand up straight and salute him. Right. He's a lieutenant - the highest ranking officer in the room, by the looks of things. The only one who doesn't salute is Nadia, who's also a lieutenant.

"You didn't bring Veronica, did you?" Lance asks.

Nadia shakes her head. "No. I left her at home. Although it would be nice to finally spend some time with her."

Lance looks around the room, and takes in the broken furniture and the stench of damp.

"Really? In a place like this?"

"I'll grant you this isn't overtly romantic," Nadia says, a touch of annoyance in her voice. "But still. I barely see her these days. Galra have everything locked down tight. I can hardly get out of the barracks."

"Can we get on with the actual business?" Keith says. He elbows past Lance and stands-to in front of Nadia.

"What have you got for me, Rizavi?" he asks.

Nadia gives him an arch look. "We have six people so far. That's a good starting point."

"It's not enough." Keith shakes his head. "We need to recruit people in numbers if we're going to defeat the Galra."

"Well, feel free to suggest some names," Lance grumbles. "So far, I've brought two people and Nadia brought four. You brought no one."

"I'm trying to figure out who I can trust!"

"You mean you don't have any friends."

Keith rounds on him, a flash of fury in his eyes.

"Do you have a problem with me?" he demands.

"Shiro put me in charge of starting this resistance," Lance says.

"And he asked me to help you. You didn't have to come pestering me with this."

"Well I wish I hadn't!" Lance protests. "All you've done so far is throw your weight around and complain!"

"Alright! Children!" Nadia interrupts them, and Lance reluctantly subsides. Keith huffs and crosses his arms, but at least he stops talking.

"Since I'm technically the senior here, how about I take charge?" Nadia says. "You two can stop bickering and focus. If you want this to get off the ground, we need to work together."

She glares between them, and then turns to address the room in general.

"Our aim here is to build up support for Princess Allura," she says. "I know there's plenty of soldiers still loyal to Altea, but we need to find each other and get organised. Understood?"

There's a chorus of nods and yes-sirs from around the room, and Nadia turns and nods to Keith. Which is fine, he's the more senior, but still. It stings Lance a little bit to be passed over.

"Our plan is to take down the Galra," Keith begins.

"No it's not!" Lance says. "Our plan is to wait until Princess Allura returns, and then help her take down King Zarkon."

"You don't even know if she's coming back," Keith says. "We can't wait around. We should take down the Galra leaders as soon as we have enough soldiers on our side."

"And then what, genius?" Lance demands. "Who leads the country? What happens to all the Galra left behind?"

Keith opens and shuts his mouth a few times, and Lance groans. Clearly, the guy didn't think any of this through. How did this mud-eating fuckwit make lieutenant?

"Lance is right," Nadia says, to Lance's immense gratification and relief. "Without external help to back us up, any attack on the Galra leadership is doomed. It just opens up the throne for the next ambitious soldier to step in and claim it. We need to wait for Princess Allura to come back. Then, we'll be ready to strike when she needs us."

"And what if she never comes back at all?" Keith asks.

"How can you say that?" Lance asks.

"What? I'm just being realistic. She might not even be alive right now. We can't count on her swooping in to save us."

"We'll assume for the time being that she's alive and coming back," Nadia says smoothly. "We can reassess the issue later, once we have more recruits. But for now, let's proceed under the assumption that we're preparing for the Princess to invade and retake Altea."

Keith mutters under his breath, but Lance ignores it. As long as he doesn't go swinging a sword at King Zarkon over breakfast tomorrow, he can grumble about things as much as he wants as far as Lance is concerned. One of the soldiers raises his hand, and Nadia nods at him.

"How do we recruit more people?" he asks. Lance recognises him as one of Nadia and Veronica's friends - Orin, a tall and well-built cadet with tan skin and copper-coloured hair.

"Recruitment has to be by recommendation," Nadia says. "You make the case to the group. At least three people have to vouch that someone's trustworthy before we let them in."

"Three people? Really?" Lance's friend Cath asks, from where she's perched near the window.

Nadia nods. "If we get discovered, it puts everyone in danger. We have to treat this with the utmost secrecy. So, three people have to speak for any new recruits. You got that? And you don't go mentioning this to anyone unless you get approval for it first."

Another round of nodding greets her words, and Nadia crosses her arms over her chest.

"Lance - you're up," she says.

Lance clears his throat and straightens up. "We need to be ready to strike as soon as Princess Allura comes back. So we need to start looking for weak points in the Galra defences, and the places where we can attack. Your first job is to keep your eyes peeled and gather information. That way, we can plan a counter strike when the time is right."

"What about disrupting what the Galra are doing right now?" Keith asks. "We're not just going to sit here and let them get away with it, are we?"

A few of the soldiers mutter in agreement. Maybe Keith has a point - although that's painful to admit.

"Whatever we do has to be stealthy," Nadia says. "Too much open disruption will land people in trouble. Look what happened to Griffin."

The fledgling resistance subsides, and Lance reads the fear in their faces. They all remember what happened to Griffin. No one's in a rush to get themselves thrown into the gladiator pits, or strung up for execution.

"It won't happen to us as long as we're careful," Lance says quickly. "But that's why we have to keep things a secret. Direct confrontation isn't going to work."

"We need to lay down some rules, too," Nadia adds. "We should avoid talking to each other as much as possible in public spaces, for a start."

"How often will we meet?" someone asks.

"Yeah, and will it always be here, or will we move around?"

Nadia holds up her hands for quiet. "One at a time. Let's start from the top, shall we?"

She runs through the list of rules with the recruits. It's all stuff Lance talked about with her earlier, when he first went to her for help with this. Simple stuff: minimal contact, no talking about the resistance, keep your heads down. That kind of thing. Lance crosses to the window as she talks, and peers out. This particular tower is out of the line-of-sight of most of the guard patrols, hidden in the shadow of taller buildings, and the windows are small enough to be hard for anyone to see inside. It's part of the reason why Lance picked it. That, and the fire damage means no one comes up here anymore.

The moonlight glints on a spear on the wall top as a Galra guard walks by, and Lance flinches back from the window, his heart hammering. But there's no shout of recognition or alarm, and he forces himself to relax. He has to stay calm and focused. He has to make this work.

He glances over his shoulder at the recruits. Mostly cadets, because he doesn't personally know anyone ranked higher than lieutenant. And only a handful so far, because he's not sure who he can absolutely trust. But it will have to do. Shiro tasked him with starting a rebellion, and he has to see it through. If Shiro believes the Princess is coming back, then Lance believes it too.

Much to his surprise, Keith comes to stand next to him and looks out of the window.

"This is a good hiding spot," he says. "We should keep meeting here."

"It shouldn't be our only hiding spot, though."

Keith crosses his arms, and his brow furrows. "I know a couple of places. Easily accessible. No one goes there. I'll show you sometime."

"Thanks," Lance says. He eyes Keith cautiously. He's not sure what the guy's deal is; he grew up in Marmora, apparently, which explains the lack of marks on his cheeks; he speaks fluent Galran, which is enough to earn him preferential treatment from the occupying soldiers. Lance can't help but wonder why Shiro trusts this guy so much. But if Shiro trusts him, then Lance can learn to trust him too.

"Sorry I said you don't have friends," Lance offers.

Keith shrugs. "You're right. I don't."

He stares out of the window as he says it, and does a good job of appearing unbothered, but the tension in his back gives him away. Lance claps him on the shoulder, and Keith turns to him with a look of surprise.

"Well, you've got friends now," he says jovially.

Keith says nothing, but there's a tiny flicker of a smile on his face as he turns back to the window. It's a start.

In truth, Keith isn't the type of person Lance would ever be friends with. But… desperate times. They have to be ready for Princess Allura's return, and Lance can't afford to let Shiro down. So if he has to learn how to be friends with Keith to do it… so be it.

* * *

The meeting lasts most of the day, with breaks for lunch and prayers, and by the time the carriage comes around to take Allura back to the Embassy, she is weary and frustrated and on the verge of tears. Coran sits in the carriage with her and chats amiably about all the progress they made, but Allura finds herself unable to respond with any enthusiasm.

Back in the Embassy, she asks for dinner to be brought to her chambers, and goes to her room to get changed. She takes off the dress and the tiara, and puts on a simple tunic and trousers. She sits on the sofa, the embroidered scarf in her hands, and wrestles with her frustrations.

Six months is too long. So much can happen in that time. The corruption of Altea will spread; the damage will only increase. She had hoped to mount a return to the country within a few weeks of arriving in Olkar. Now, all her plans are in disarray.

But General Brina was insistent, and Allura cannot deny the scale of the task in front of her. She should have known. Perhaps she was naïve to think it could all be done so quickly; perhaps she is just impatient to go home. But she feels like a fool, and that is not helping her mood.

The door creaks open, and Allura looks up to see Coran peering into the room.

"Supper's on its way up," he says jovially. He steps into the room and sits down in the chair opposite her, one leg crossed over the other.

"I thought it went rather well today," he says. "We made some good progress."

Allura looks up at him. "Progress? We'll be stuck her twiddling our thumbs for months!"

"Well, these things take time," Coran says. "But Queen Ryner is--"

"I don't want to hear about Queen Ryner!" Allura snaps. She can't help it. Coran doesn't deserve to be the focus of her irritation, but he is here and she's tired and angry, and the ugly emotions spill out of her before she can stop them.

"What's the matter, Princess?" Coran asks. "I know the delay is a little frustrating…"

"Frustrating?" Allura says. She gets up and paces in front of the sofa, too worked up to sit still. "It's infuriating! I'm to be exiled from my own kingdom for six months? I can't wait that long! I need to go back!"

"I know you're worried, but Altea can survive for a few months without you," Coran says. "We're all going to have to be patient for a while, I'm afraid."

"I don't want to be patient! I have to get back!"

Coran frowns. "What is this really about?"

Allura stops pacing, and flops back down on the couch. She meets Coran's sympathetic gaze.

"I left him there," she says. "Shiro. I left him to die alone."

"He was the Captain of the Guard," Coran says softly. "He knew his duty, and the risks that entailed. He was a brave man, and I can understand if you feel guilty about it…"

"You don't understand!" Allura wails. She tries to hold back her tears, but the misery rises up to engulf her.

"He loved me," she sobs. "He loved me, and I loved him, and now he's gone."

She buries her face in her hands and weeps, and waits for Coran to scold her; to tell her how inappropriate this all is, and how it's her own fault for getting attached. She is the Princess of Altea, and she let everyone down by following her foolish heart.

"Oh, Allura," Coran says gently. She feels him sit down beside her, and his arm slides around her shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you'd be angry at me," she cries, the words choked out through tears.

"Oh, hush, it's alright," Coran says. "I'm not angry with you. Why would I be?"

"We were together in Naxum." The words come unbidden, and she lets them tumble out because she doesn't know how to hold them back any longer. "He kissed me, and I let myself love him. I know I shouldn't have, but he's so kind and sweet, and I wanted…"

"Sshh Allura, it's alright," Coran murmurs. "You didn't do anything wrong."

She looks up at him through the cloud of grief that storms around her.

"You're not mad?"

"Of course not."

He tightens his arm around her, and she sinks into his shoulder and lets him hold her as she cries. She feels like a child again. Coran was often around the castle when she was growing up, and sometimes she would run to him in tears over some childhood mishap, and he would hold her just like this and speak softly to her until the pain faded and she smiled again. Even now, her heart eases. Coran's simple kindness cuts through the ache in her chest, and the sheer relief of telling someone else how much she has lost makes the burden easier to bear.

"We'll find out what happened to him," Coran says. "Don't give up hope just yet."

"I saw him fight," Allura whispers. "He was hurt so badly. Lotor's men just dragged him away. What if he's dead?"

"He might not be," Coran says. "He might still be alive, and they took him into captivity."

"Then I left him there! They'll torture him or hurt him even more! I have to get him out, Coran. I have to go back for him."

"You _will_ , Princess," Coran says. "We just need to be careful, that's all. You can't go blindly rushing back into danger. You'll get yourself hurt along with him."

"But I miss him so much."

Coran pulls her close again, and lets her sob out her misery whilst he gently strokes her shoulder and murmurs words of comfort. Coran is the closest she has to family, now; but for all his kindness, she still feels the sharp and bitter ache of her loss all over again. She wishes she had her mother here to talk to. Or Aunt Romelle, who would understand her situation better than anyone, and who was always so witty and irreverent with her advice.

Romelle would probably tell her not to give up. Her mother would tell her that love lives on in the heart, and there is always hope for those Blessed by the Goddess. Her father… well, he'd probably tut at her for distracting one of his guards, but _after_ that, he'd tell her that Captain Shiro is resourceful and resilient, and that if anyone could survive against the odds, it's him.

Maybe they'd be right, too. It feels odd to borrow hope from the dead, but… in her heart of hearts she cannot believe that Shiro is really gone. He _must_ be alive. She would have felt it in her soul if he died.

Coran gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze, and she looks up at him.

"Why don't you get some rest?" he says gently. "It's been a long and difficult day. Have some supper and get some sleep."

Allura nods. "You're probably right, Coran. Thank you. For everything."

He gives her one last sympathetic smile, and leaves her to her own devices. Her supper tray arrives a few minutes later, and she eats as much as her appetite will allow. The sunset turns the sky to rose and gold, and the call to evening prayers softens the air with its sweet cadence, and Allura lets the peace of the evening soothe some of the pains of the day.

She makes her evening devotions, and once again she asks the Goddess to keep Shiro within Her divine protection. Perhaps it is a selfish prayer, under the circumstances. But when she was with Shiro, it felt _right_. It felt blessed and good and peaceful, as if the Goddess Herself ordained it. She even used to joke with Shiro, at times, that he was sent to her by the Goddess. He kept her going when she wanted to give up. He stood by her and helped her when she had nothing; held her through tears and sorrow. He made her smile when she had given up any hope of knowing the taste of happiness ever again.

And so perhaps she can ask the Goddess to watch over him and not feel guilty for it. He was more than just a lover, or an idle distraction on the road. She needs him back, and what else can she do but pray and hope? She whispers the words into her hands as the firelight flickers in the grate and the lamps warm the room with their soft hues.

"Please protect him," she begs. "I have never loved anyone the way I love him. Please keep him safe for me. Bring him back to me."

What would Shiro do at a time like this? She thinks back to some of their conversations in the Wilds, when he explained to her the different types of shrines built in Nyhon, and how you remember the fallen. She has never done anything like it - except the ritual he performed with her at the Holt farm. But it feels appropriate, somehow.

She crosses the room and opens the door to the antechamber of her suite, where to her surprise she finds Mizrin still sitting behind a desk, writing neatly and carefully in one of her many books. She looks up as Allura approaches.

"Do you need something, ladyship?" she asks.

"I… yes," Allura says. "I need some small candles. And paper and drawing materials, if you have them."

"Of course," Mizrin says. "Give me a moment, I'll bring them up for you."

She crosses the room in neat, quick steps, and disappears out the door. Allura does not have long to wait before the secretary returns, carrying some parchment and charcoals.

"Will this suffice?" she asks.

Allura nods. "Yes. Thank you. And I hope you will get some sleep, Mizrin. Don't stay awake all night on my account."

"I won't, ladyship," Mizrin says, although Allura isn't sure she believes it.

She goes back into her room and sits cross-legged on the bed, a cushion in her lap, and the parchment in front of her. Her hands shake, and she steadies her breath and picks up the charcoal.

She sketches Shiro's face from memory, as simply and accurately as she can. She is not a great artist by any means, and it has been some time since she took instruction in Oriande, but she trusts her hands and draws from the heart. In the end, the likeness is so good it brings tears to her eyes. Shiro's face gazes out at her from the parchment, and her own affections furnish the details that her artistic talents can't quite manage: the softness of his eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, the warmth that always filled his expression whenever he looked at her. It will do.

He taught her how to write his name, during their time in the inn in Naxum. It seemed like a silly thing at the time; an excuse to sit close to him, his hand over hers as he guided her through the curving Hon-sun runes, chuckling in her ear when she got it wrong. The whole thing devolved into kisses, eventually, and she remembers the glow in Shiro's face and the joy in his eyes as he took the pencil from her hand and pulled her into his embrace.

"I'm trying to learn the ways of your people," she protested, half-serious, and he laughed.

"Then learn this," he said, his nose brushing hers and his breath hot against her skin. " _Halaan-ti, amwen_."

"What does that mean?" she said with a chuckle.

"It means, _'kiss me, beloved'_ ," he said - and so she did, the words echoing in her head and heart.

" _Ki amantu haari_ ," he breathed into her neck, chasing the strange words with his lips, and she groaned under the heat of his touch.

"And that?" she asked.

"You'll figure it out," he murmured, and she was too caught up in how good he felt to press the issue.

She never did find out what ' _ki amantu haari_ ' meant, although Shiro said it often enough that she can hear it in his voice, even now. Still, she remembers how to write his name, at least. She practiced it in the inn in idle moments, because it seemed to amuse Shiro no end, and she liked how he would look at her so softly when she chewed her lip and tried to remember the exact pattern of it.

She picks up the charcoal and writes his name beside the portrait of him, as best as she can. Then she takes the drawing and finds an alcove in a secluded corner of the room, and props the parchment against the wall. She lights three candles and sets them in a line in front of the picture of Shiro's face. What else? Something of his - something tied to him. The only thing she has is his dagger, the hilt still worn by the pattern of his grip. She lays it in the alcove too.

There's words that go with a shrine like this, but Allura doesn't know them. Shiro never taught her the prayer, only the principle: candles are for the living, and incense is for the dead. She won't light incense for him - not yet. He is alive; she feels it deep down in her battered heart. He will come back to her one day.

"I know you're still alive," she whispers. "I promise I'll find you, my _marksglow_. I promise."

She leaves the candles to burn low in the alcove, and climbs into the huge, empty bed. She keeps the headscarf with her, wrapped around her hand like a talisman, and drifts off into sleep.

Tonight, she dreams of Shiro again. But this time, she stands on an endless dark plain under glittering stars, and Shiro stands ahead of her, his form ghostly and unreal. She calls out to him - but in this strange place her voice echoes and fades into the wind, and he does not hear. She calls again, and runs towards him, through fog that drags at her legs and air that bites cold and sharp in her lungs.

He turns around, and the confusion on his face gives way to recognition, and then warmth; but before she can reach his side he melts away into the mist, and the dream fades into nothing but starlight and sorrow.

* * *

_He stands in front of the gateway and watches the Lions, and they watch him in turn with endless, ancient patience. This are not beings of flesh or time; what is an hour to them? What is a day? Or a century?_

_This place has a timeless feel to it, anyway. He can't work out how long he's been here. Even the question seems meaningless, under these stars that stretch for eternity._

_The doorway looks very inviting._

_The White Lion purrs - a deep rumble in her chest that seems to shake the ground. Maybe she wants him to pass through. Maybe that's what they're waiting for._

_But he hesitates, still._

_He left someone behind._

_He looks down at his own, insubstantial hands. He's just a soul here, in this starlit world, and whilst some things remain a confusing blur, other things are suddenly thrown into sharp focus. There's someone else who should be beside him; another soul that matches his own. And they're not here._

_A voice calls behind him, lilting and soft, and he hears his own name. He turns, and sees her: the other half of him. She is dark and lovely in the starlight, glowing from within, and his name sounds like poetry on her lips._

_He should be with her. But he's not._

_He reaches out for her, but before he can take a step towards her she fades away, leaving nothing but mist behind._

_He turns back to the Lions, and they stand up and watch him._

_"I left her," he says. "She still needs me, and I left her."_

_The White Lion purrs again, and her words echo in his head without her seeming to speak them out loud._

_"Do you wish to pass through? Or do you wish to return?"_

_He looks at the gateway, and the glimpses of light and colour it contains. It seems peaceful, but… he can't. Not yet._

_He shakes his head. "I can't go without her."_

_The Black Lion pounces, without warning, and knocks him to the ground. He lies pinned between the beast's huge paws, too stunned to react, and the Lion lowers her face towards him. Her eyes blaze yellow, and the golden glow fills his vision, blotting out the stars, and he rushes upwards through darkness and noise and chaos towards a distant, bright light._

* * *

He opens his eyes, and everything hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so as you might have noticed, i based Olkar pretty heavily on Islamic culture and countries. it's not modelled around any one specific place, but the Olkari religion is based very closely on Islam, what with all the hijabs and prayer halls and calls to prayer and the like. culturally i mixed in a lot of different elements, because i imagined Olkar as a huge country with a lot of different regions and peoples all mixed together. naturally, the capitol city is a bit of a melting pot because of this.
> 
> i also made a new sideblog for this fic - check it out here: [love-lies-bleeding-fic](https://love-lies-bleeding-fic.tumblr.com/). you can ask me any questions about the story over there - even if you don't have a tumblr!
> 
> thanks once again for all the lovely comments and thanks for being patient between updates. this chapter was a doozy and a half to work on but i think it was worth it in the end! <3


	17. metal and magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Shiro wakes up, and sorta wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake Peralta voice: THIS FIC LIVES AND SO DO I !! real life stuff has been a little stressful lately so apologies if this chapter is a bit scruffier than usual - i might come back and polish it a bit more later, but for now please just take it lol

Shiro opens bleary eyes, and groans.

A wall of pain consumes his entire body, all the way down to his bones. He blinks slowly, and tries to bring his surroundings into focus. The dim light faintly illuminates a stone ceiling and walls. Let's see, what else… the clink of chains. The drip of water reverberating in some nearby space. A general unsanitary stench.

All signs point to 'dungeon' as his current location.

 _Great_.

He tries to sit up, loses his balance, and lurches sideways. Another wave of pain slams into him, and he grits his teeth as his vision blurs and the world spins dizzily around him. He breathes through the pain, steadies himself on the wall, and tries again; and eventually gets vaguely upright. His right arm doesn't seem to want to move much, and he looks down to see if he can figure out why.

His arm is missing.

He registers this fact rather dispassionately, as if it is all happening to someone else and is none of his business. He has a shoulder and a bicep, and then his arm… ends. Just ends, at a stump right above where his elbow should be. The stump is wrapped in bandages, and he pokes it experimentally. Daggers of pain shoot up his shoulder and into his neck, so this is definitely _his_ arm and _his_ problem, it's just that his brain keeps scooting away from that fact.

He stares at the remains of his arm like it belongs to someone else.

This is going to take some getting used to.

He feels gingerly around the stump, but it's tender and sore and it hurts when he touches it, so he leaves it alone. Instead he stands up and looks around his cell. The room is small and filthy, with a heavy barred door and a tiny window set high on one wall. Shiro cranes up to peer out of it and try and find out where he is, exactly.

He spies a familiar courtyard outside, and familiar walls. Weak sunlight filters down to him, and he glimpses a Galra banner fluttering above a familiar battlement.

He's back in Oriande. In the Castle.

He drops back down onto the floor and curses under his breath. Lotor must have brought him back through one of Haggar's portals in the Temples. He doesn't remember any of the journey. How long was he unconscious? Hours? Days? He blacked out on a dock in Naxum and woke up back here, in the capitol, hundreds of miles away. Missing an arm.

At least he's still alive.

He tries to remember what happened on the docks, but the fight is a messy blur. All he knows for certain is that Allura got away. He saw her make it to the skyboat, and he saw the boat leave. She's safe. The rest is all trivial at this point, as far as he's concerned.

He sinks back down onto the bed and stares at his one remaining hand. Allura's probably angry at him. She hated the plan. She's probably furious - but she's alive to _be_ furious, so he'll take that as fair payment. He'll never see her again, and the last thing he did was make her cry, and that stings - but she's safe. She gets to live and come back and overthrow Zarkon and retake her kingdom, so he can't bring himself to regret any of it. Even the loss of an arm seems like a small price to pay for her life and freedom.

She wouldn't see it that way, though. She always did value him more highly than he deserved.

A noise outside his cell makes him look up. A soldier's instinct kicks in, and he gets up and puts his back to the wall. Not that it will do much good, because he's not sure he could even throw a punch right now without losing his balance, but he'd rather face whatever's coming standing up.

The door swings open, and two Galra sentries stand in the dim light of the corridor outside.

"He's awake," one of them says. The guard turns to address someone else outside the cell. "Tell Queen Haggar."

"You're coming with us," the other guard says.

Shiro looks between the two guards, and tries to gauge his chances of running. Probably not good. Also probably pointless, in the grand scheme of things, except that it would annoy them no end.

"Where are we going?" he asks, but the first guard strides across the room and raises his spear. He brings the haft down hard on Shiro's temple, and once again everything goes black.

 

He wakes up when someone throws water in his face.

He splutters, and goes to wipe his eyes, but a restraint pulls on his wrist. Once again, he goes through the process of trying to get his bearings, and realises that he is bound to a chair by his wrist and ankles. He's in some kind of dark room, even more gloomy and dungeon-esque than the cell, and something about the chains and the low light and the general foreboding atmosphere suggests that he is about to get interrogated.

Oh well. Life was nice while it lasted. At least he got to make Allura smile.

A jagged flame of purple light flickers into life in one corner of the room, and a shrouded figure steps forward. She wears a dark cloak, and she lowers the hood to reveal elongated facial markings - red against her tan brown skin - and long white hair.

Queen Haggar herself.

 _Huh_. That's odd.

"This is her guard?" she asks.

"That's him, yes." The voice from the shadows is smooth and rich and polished; the voice of someone who lies as easy as breathing. Prince Lotor.

They're _both_ here? Shiro tries to make out Lotor's shape in the gloom, but the Prince holds up the purple lantern and sets it against a grooved shelf in the wall. The purple light jumps out and runs along the channel, ringing the room in an eerie violet glow.

This is an interrogation room. Shiro recognises it. The chamber is round, and inlaid with an alchemy circle carved into the floor - one designed to bind and constrain a prisoner. These ancient chambers are rarely used in Altea; the practice of restraining prisoners using alchemy has been outlawed for centuries as inhumane, and they serve now mostly as curiosities and cautionary tales. At least… they _did_. Until Haggar got her hands on them.

Shiro clenches his hand into a fist. He probably should be more panicked than he is, but despite his predicament, he feels an odd sense of calm. For weeks, his primary worry was for Allura's safety. His mission was to get her out of the country unharmed. And he's done that. She's safe. It doesn't matter if he's in mortal danger, or if Haggar tortures him for information. As long as Allura is safe, he doesn't care about anything else.

Queen Haggar steps up to him, and grabs him by the chin. Her bony fingers dig into his flesh, and she turns his head this way and that, as if examining his face and finding it sorely lacking.

"Where is Princess Allura?" she demands.

"I don't know," Shiro says.

Haggar reaches for the stump of his arm, and squeezes. Blinding, burning pain rushes up his shoulder and neck, and he yells out and tries to flinch away from her hand.

"I don't know! I swear!"

She releases him, and he blinks back tears of agony and tries to get his breath back.

"She got onto a skyboat," Haggar hisses. "Where was she headed?"

"She never told me," Shiro lies. "I was just her guard, she didn't tell me things!"

"She must have discussed a destination," Haggar goes on. "Did she mention it? Did she talk about it to anyone?"

"I don't remember," Shiro mutters. "Maybe tell your soldiers to stop hitting me on the head? It's fucking up my memory."

Haggar backhands him hard across the face, and he tastes blood in his mouth. Her fingers close around his chin again, and she pulls him around to look at her. Her eyes are an unpleasant yellow; her pupils narrow black slits, like a snake's.

"You travelled with the Princess for weeks," she says. "And she told you nothing?"

"What did you expect?" Shiro lets the pain leak into his voice, so that he sounds annoyed and aggrieved and the lies will flow more smoothly. "I'm just a Guard. We weren't _friends_. She told me to escort her to Naxum, and I did. She bought tickets for a boat, but she didn't tell me where it was headed. She's the Princess. Why would she tell a Hanyin soldier her plans?"

Queen Haggar stands up, and her eyes bore into him. He tries to figure out if she's buying any of this.

"You were captured on the docks," the Queen says. "Did she have no further use for you?"

Allura's face rises up in his memory, full of hurt and heartbreak; tears streaming down her cheeks as she pressed her hands to the glass of the elevator. In Naxum, for a few brief, foolish days, he let himself hope that they'd make it to Olkar together. He let himself dream of a future where he stayed by her side and she held his arm as she walked into meetings, and he sat with her every evening drinking tea and talking about the day's events. A future where she took him to her bed every night, and he got to hold her and kiss her and make her glow like a sunrise.

He buries that thought deep down, where it can't show on his face or in his eyes. There's no hope for that outcome, now. But he can at least keep Allura's location a secret. There are ways that he can help her, still.

"She ordered me to stay behind on the docks," he says. "I was supposed to buy time for her to escape. That was my duty."

He forces himself to meet Haggar's gaze. He is all too aware of Lotor lurking near the wall, his face painted in shadows and purple light.

Lotor was at the inn in Naxum. He knows that Allura shared a room with Shiro. And in Shiro's experience, servants are incurable gossips, which means that most of the staff at _The Jasmine Flower_ were probably well aware that they were _together_. They weren't exactly subtle about it - they were pretending to be married, after all. How much did Hedra pass on to Lotor, when she traded their lives for her own selfish gain? And then Lotor was there on the docks, as well. He probably saw Shiro's final moments with Allura before he pushed her into the elevator. Did he see that last kiss? Allura's anguished expression? Because if he did, he can expose Shiro's lies right now.

But Lotor says nothing. _Interesting_.

Queen Haggar purses her lips. She summons a bead of purple energy, floating above her palm, and holds it up near Shiro's face. Quintessence leaks out of it, corrupted and unpleasant, and it makes Shiro's skin prickle.

Haggar pushes the energy towards him, and he feels the tendrils of it creep over his neck and jaw as the purple light spreads out. This close, he can hear the buzz as the power leaps from the witches fingers and onto his body, seeking a way to burrow under his skin.

"Tell me the truth," Haggar says. "Where is Princess Allura? Where did she run off to?"

The quintessence throbs and writhes in her hand, and the energy seeps into Shiro's bloodstream. He can feel it tainting his flesh and spreading out like an ugly stain. He pushes back against it instinctively, and the slow creep of it subsides; the energy withdraws. The pulse of the bead in Haggar's hand falters, and she narrows her eyes at him.

"I don't know where the Princess went," Shiro says. "I have no idea where she is."

"This is pointless," Lotor says, from the edge of the room. "He clearly knows nothing. You might as well ask one of my foot soldiers about my battle plans. He's just the Princess's lackey."

Shiro risks a brief glance at him. The Prince leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest, inspecting his nails with an air of detached boredom. Whatever he knows about the true nature of their relationship, and exactly how much they meant to each other - he's not letting on.

That's very interesting indeed.

Shiro turns back to Queen Haggar before Lotor can catch him looking. The Queen lets the ball of energy dissipate from her hand, and runs long, bony fingers through the tuft of white hair at Shiro's forehead.

"He has some power with quintessence," she mutters. "The white hair marks him."

"Then give him a prosthetic and send him to the arena," Lotor says airily. "I'm sure he'll be very entertaining. He put up an interesting fight on the pier, at any rate."

"He should be interrogated further," Haggar says. She turns to Lotor, and they both ignore Shiro even as they discuss his fate.

"What for?" Lotor asks. "I told you he wouldn't know anything. The Princess is long gone. It's time to look to other avenues to secure the kingdom."

"I see no reason to let him live," Haggar says, and a chill runs down Shiro's spine. His life right now is fragile and worthless. Haggar could execute him on a whim; Lotor can throw him to the gladiator pits and watch him die for his own amusement. He bites back the panic and fights to keep the fear from showing on his face.

"He's my prisoner, not yours," Lotor says. He unfolds from his slouched position against the wall, and strolls across the cell to where Shiro sits strapped to the chair. Shiro watches him, and tries to read his expression, but Lotor merely looks bored.

"I find him rather amusing," he says. He runs a hand into Shiro's hair and yanks his head back, and inspects him for a moment before letting him go. "I don't have many gladiators, and he's rather diverting. Haven't you been wanting to try out your inventions on an Altean? Give him a prosthetic and let me keep him as a fighter."

"Your father would not approve of such frivolity," Haggar warns.

Lotor shrugs. "Allow me to indulge in the occasional pointless pleasure, mother."

Queen Haggar appears to consider this, and Shiro sits and waits to hear his fate.

"Very well," she says. "Put him in the Gladiator barracks. He will make an interesting experimental subject. But if he causes any trouble, you will be the one to explain it to your father."

She sweeps out of the room, and Lotor throws Shiro an unreadable look before he follows her out.

 

The guards come to unstrap Shiro from the chair and take him to the barracks, and this time they actually allow him to remain conscious for the journey. On the way out of the dungeons, he gets to see the extent of the change that has come over the Castle since he left.

Galra sentries march or stand in every major corridor, and the purple banners of King Zarkon drape over walls and window sills and hang from the rafters of every room. The guards take Shiro by the arm and drag him up a spiral staircase, past the block of cells where he woke up, and out into one of the Castle's courtyards. Shiro blinks in the sunlight; judging by the position of the sun, it is mid-afternoon. He glances at the walls and rooves, and sees more Galra soldiers stationed there. But Altean soldiers also stand near the gates, or hurry across the open spaces, and Shiro recalls what Lance said weeks ago about the high ranking officers taking the army over to Zarkon's side.

He spots few servants, and that's a bad sign. The Castle always used to bustle with activity, and servants scurried everywhere or sat and gossiped in the sunshine. Now, the few maids and errand boys he sees wear terrified expressions, and they flinch back into the shadows and do not linger or smile.

The guards march Shiro through an archway into another courtyard, and down a flight of steps onto the lower level of the Castle complex. The long, low building of the old cadet barracks appears ahead of them to the left, opposite the packed earth of the training ground. It's familiar territory; Shiro did much of his basic training here, and oversaw cadets in their drills on this very field.

But the high metal fence is new. And the yard inside is no longer full of fresh-faced cadets, but older soldiers working through one-on-one sparring exercises under the watchful eyes of Galra sentries. Behind the barracks, the ancient amphitheatre is hung with purple banners and multicoloured pendants that flutter in the breeze.

Shiro's heart sinks. The gladiator arena. The cadet quarters are now the gladiator barracks, apparently; their training yard is where the gladiators get fitted out for combat that serves no purpose except the amusement of the invaders.

The guards hand Shiro over at the doorway of the barracks, and a grizzled Galra commander gives him a disparaging look.

"See you in the arena!" Shiro calls back at his sentries, and they jeer at him.

"You won't last one battle," the first one sneers.

"I will if it's against you," Shiro shoots back. "You wanna try me?"

The comment earns him a cuff around the ear from the Galra commander, who grabs his arm and yanks him inside the barracks. He probably shouldn't wind up the guards. He should keep his head down and not cause trouble. But on the other hand… he's going to die anyway, so he might as well annoy as many people as possible while he has the chance.

"I am Commander Plytox," the soldier barks. "Your life belongs to me, now. You will eat and sleep and train under my instructions. You will fight when I tell you to fight. Do we have an understanding?"

"You sound like my old drill sergeant," Shiro mutters.

Plytox whips him around and slams him against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of him and make spots dance in his vision.

"Do you think this is funny?" Plytox growls.

"I think I'm a dead man walking," Shiro wheezes. "I'll take my laughs where I can get them."

Plytox gives him an unpleasant grin, and runs a disdainful glance over Shiro's battered body.

"You're right about one thing, at least," he says. "You will die in the arena. Most of your kind do."

He grabs Shiro by the arm again, and shoves him towards a pair of sentries. Shiro staggers into the first of them, and the guards take him by the shoulders.

"Put him in a bunk," Plytox orders. "Alone."

 

There was a time, back when Shiro was still a foot soldier, when he got taken captive on a border skirmish with Puig. He spent a month in prison, before he escaped with an important enemy captain as a hostage and trekked back to the Altean border on foot. It earned him a promotion, and the undying loyalty of the other soldiers he rescued in the process.

That experience was remarkably similar to the one he's going through right now, and it makes him wonder if all prisons are universally the same. The two guards drag him to a bathhouse, where - predictably - the water is freezing, and he spends a few minutes awkwardly trying to soap his body with only one hand whilst the guards yell at him. Then they take him to a side room where - of course - an Altean soldier waits to cut his hair and beard. Weeks-worth of growth is hacked off his head, but the Altean abides by the superstition that white hair is a sign of the Goddess's blessings and should not be cut, so Shiro ends up with his hair mostly short except for the tuft of white at his forehead. The makeshift jail hasn't been here long enough to get its own uniform, so the guards hand him a set of worn-out black fatigues and give him his boots back.

He is, once more, a prisoner.

The guards walk him along a corridor that's eerily familiar from his cadet days, and unlock a door into one of the small, neat bedrooms that has become a jail cell. It's just as Shiro remembers: the narrow bunkbed, the shelves along one wall for storage, the square window covered by a grill. Except that now, the doors are all locked from the outside, and Galra soldiers patrol the corridors and the yard downstairs.

At least the room itself isn't awful.

An Altean guard appears with a tray of food and water, and he shuffles nervously into the room, deposits the tray on a shelf, and then flees with a terrified glance at the Galrans. The door slams shut, and the key turns in the lock.

Shiro stands there and stares at the door for a long moment. Then he turns and inspects his new room.

These dorms used to have tables and chairs in them, but that seems to have been removed at some point, so there's nowhere to sit but awkwardly on the bunks or on the floor. Shiro opts to sit cross-legged on the floor, and forces himself to eat the food. It's a bland, unpleasant stew; but it's fuel, and he hasn't eaten in… who knows how long. No point in starving. If the Galra want him dead, they're going to have to do it themselves.

He pushes the empty tray away from him and leans back against the bunk and tries to think.

All in all, things could have gone a lot worse. The gladiator arena sounds like a nightmare, but compared to the living hell of getting tortured by Haggar and Lotor for weeks, Shiro is prepared to take his chances. At least he'll probably die quickly.

But why _didn't_ Lotor torture him for information?

He scowls at the ceiling. Clearly, he's landed in the middle of some Galra royal family politics.

Lotor knows more than he let on in front of Queen Haggar. There's absolutely no way that Hedra would conceal the nature of Shiro's relationship with Allura whilst they stayed at the inn. Why would she? Given that she sold them out, it's more likely that she offered up extra juicy details in exchange for more money from Lotor. Lotor _has_ to know. He's not that stupid. But he said nothing about it in front of Queen Haggar - he didn't even voice a suspicion. Not even a 'they stayed in the same room at an inn, surely he's more than just her guard'. Nothing.

So Lotor doesn't trust his own mother. Or he's playing some game, and Haggar isn't in on it. Either way… Lotor's behaviour is a mystery, and it makes Shiro feel like a token being moved around a game board. He's not his own person anymore. He's 'Lotor's gladiator', whatever the hell that means.

He scrubs a hand over his face and rolls into the bottom bunk. He lies there on the hard, thin mattress and stares at the empty bed above him. His arm still aches and his stomach feels uncomfortably tight around the food he just ate, and he's exhausted and disoriented and grumpy.

He pulls up the fabric of his fatigues and finds the scars on his abdomen from when Allura healed him. He runs a finger over the two raised lines, over and over, feeling the way the skin bumps up under his hand. He took a knife for Allura - twice, because that stab-happy bastard wasn't content to skewer him just once. And then she healed him, and fretted over the fact that she left him with scars.

Those scars are the only thing he has left of her now. They linger on his skin; the lasting mark of how much she cared for him. When she could have fled and left him, she came back instead. His fingers trace the raised welts, and he remembers the way her hands trembled as she laid them on his abdomen; the delicate touch of her palms and her quintessence. She was so worried about the scars, and he teased her about it. Showed her some of his old war wounds to make her feel better.

The scars never bothered him at the time. And now he's oddly glad of them. He has nothing else to remember Allura by except those two marks on his body, and the tuft of white hair that hangs over his eyes. She is gone from him forever, but the trace of her touch remains.

The sun sets outside the window, and the room grows dim, and he falls asleep with his hand still resting over the marks of old wounds. He dreams strange dreams - of Allura, safe and warm in his arms, smiling up at him and asking for a kiss; of the battle on the docks and the fear and pain. And of a mighty black lion who tells him that it is not yet his time to die.

 

The next day, Shiro awakes to the sound of guards ringing the bells and banging on cell doors. He pulls on his boots and follows the other prisoners down the corridor to the mess hall, where a thoroughly miserable and disappointing breakfast is served on crude wooden trays. The hall itself has a high ceiling open all the way up to the rafters of the roof, and an empty firepit at one end that heats the place in winter. But the windows that used to let in natural light have been boarded up, leaving the room gloomy and stuffy. Guards stand around in the corners, and Altean soldiers hand out the food. The shape of a new hierarchy becomes clear: the Altean personnel do the messy jobs, and the Galra sentries take care of actual security. Shiro files the observation away for future consideration, and finds a seat at an empty table.

As he sits there poking at the porridge and dry bread, someone sits beside him. He looks over into a familiar face: dark skin, yellow markings, a strong jaw, and tightly coiled black hair clipped back short against the man's head.

"Hey, Captain," he says with a wink.

"Kinkade?" Shiro says. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to die," Kinkade says with a grin. "You look like hell, by the way. What happened to your arm?"

"Long story," Shiro mutters. He glances over at the Galra guards, and Kinkade makes a show of stuffing some bread into his mouth and looking like they're talking about nothing much. But Shiro's heart races. Kinkade is an old friend - one of the soldiers he escaped with in Puig. And despite his misgivings about the man being caught up in this gladiator game, it's nice to see a familiar face.

"What happened to everyone else?" Shiro asks. He has friends in the capitol - at least, he did. He still doesn't know what happened to most of them.

Kinkade leans down and lowers his voice, and Shiro keeps his eyes on his food tray and his face carefully neutral.

"I don't know about everyone," Kinkade murmurs. "But Griffin's dead. Iverson refused to go along with it when the army went over to Zarkon, and he died in the arena. But Nadia - you remember Nadia Rizavi? - she managed to get Iverson's family out of the city, so they were spared, at least. Elia's keeping her head down, and Tavo…"

"I'm right here," Tavo says.

Shiro looks up, and gives Tavo a grim smile. He's older than Shiro by a few years; a huge bear of a man with pale blue markings that stand out on his dark skin. He kept a beard even before prison, but it's longer now, and just starting to go grey at the edges.

"You too?" Shiro says, and Tavo shrugs.

"We got caught trying to sabotage a weapons lock-up," Tavo says.

"And then Tavo called one of the commanders - what was it? - 'a gutless crybaby who looks like something his mother regrets not swallowing instead' and now here we are."

Shiro snorts, and then tries to hide it by shovelling lumpy porridge into his mouth. A sentry by the wall gives him a disinterested look and then turns away, and he risks a glance at both Kinkade and Tavo. They look well, all things considered; a little tired and rundown, with a few fresh scars and bruises, but otherwise cheerful. Kinkade waits for the chatter of the canteen to pick up again, and then he speaks again.

"Your friend Lance has been busy," he says, so quietly that Shiro barely catches the words. He tenses up, and concentrates on keeping his eyes down and his posture casual and unconcerned.

"Oh yeah?" he asks. "Doing what?"

"He set up a drama group," Tavo says, and Shiro's mind races. ' _Drama group_ '. He can guess what that's code for. He looks up at Tavo and smiles, as if the other man has made a joke, and Tavo toys idly with the tin cup in his hand.

"Heard they're working on a play to boost morale," Tavo goes on. "Something dramatic. Probably right up your alley."

"How many people joined this drama group?" Shiro asks.

Kinkade shrugs. "Don't know. But I told Elia to save me a part in case I get out of here."

"I don't know if they're ready for a final performance yet," Tavo goes on. "But that Marmora kid, Keith? He's in it too."

Shiro nods slowly, and tries to put the pieces together in his head. Of course they're probably not ready yet. But it sounds like Lance found Keith, which is a good sign; and somehow Kinkade and Tavo are getting news from outside the gladiator barracks, which is another good sign. Oriande isn't completely under the heel of the invaders. Resistance lives on, even if it's currently in hiding.

"I hope I live long enough to see this epic play," Shiro says, and Kinkade bumps him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit, Captain," he says, and Tavo gives him a grim smile. At least he's not completely alone in this dump.

 

Once breakfast is over, the prisoners are turned out into the yard for basic drills and training. Shiro follows the crowd, because at least it gets him outside and he can figure out the layout of the barracks and the configuration of the guards. Plytox stands at the edge of the training ground, yelling and cursing at the inmates as they set off on laps and reps.

Shiro finds himself jogging with a bunch of other prisoners, and struggling with every step. It's surprisingly hard to keep his momentum. Instinct and habit compel him to try and pump with his right arm as he runs, but every move makes his stump ache, and running with just one arm feels all kinds of strange. He grimaces and slows down and bumps into the prisoner next to him, and then lags completely behind when he still can't get the hang of staying upright.

He curses under his breath and keeps trying. The Galra guards have the look of bullies who will pick on stragglers for fun. He gets in a couple of laps of the training field, dizzy with exhaustion and pain; and then as he runs past Plytox's self-important podium, a sentry reaches out and grabs him by the scruff of the neck. He loses his balance and lands sprawled in front of the Commander, who sneers at him.

"That's enough for today, Shirogane," Plytox says. "You have an appointment with the witch."

Shiro looks behind Plytox. Lotor's general is leaning on the fence - the narrow-faced one from Garrin. Axia? Acxa? Whatever her name is. She straightens up and walks past the Commander to stare down at Shiro in the dirt.

"Get up, soldier boy," she says. "You're coming with me."

Shiro keeps his eyes on her as he struggles to his feet. The whole of the right side of his body blazes with agony, but he tries not to let it show. General Acxa beckons to a squad of four sentries, who move to surround Shiro on all sides. They're taller even than the average Galra, and the blue and orange highlights on their uniforms suggest that they are from Lotor's elite guard. Probably best not to start a fight with them, then.

Acxa holds up a hand and signals to the guards, and two of them take Shiro by the shoulders and push him into a march. Acxa leads them out of the training compound and back towards the main Castle buildings, and Shiro follows behind, ringed by the sentries.

He could, in theory, make a break for it. He has the element of surprise, and he could take out at least two of the guards and then run for it. But he's tired and sore, and he's still not confident he could run in a straight line; and there are guards on every wall and doorway, watching for any movement within the Castle grounds. If he makes a run for it, he'll mostly likely get shot full of crossbow bolts before he makes it ten yards. He needs to bide his time and see how this all plays out. Maybe there's escape routes he hasn't discovered yet.

For now, though, he contents himself with trailing after Acxa and trying to subtly massage some of pain out of the stump of his right arm. It still feels horribly weird to touch it. He moves down the bicep expecting to find an elbow, and then when his hands don't find it his mind sort of… shuts down around that fact and refuses to address it. He gives up and leaves it alone.

Acxa leads him across a courtyard and into a wing of the castle that houses workshops and storerooms. The mark of Galra occupation is everywhere: upturned furniture, broken-down doors, guards in every corridor. The ubiquitous purple banners hang at regular intervals, lest anyone forget who is in charge of the Castle now.

Acxa turns into a side hallway, and as the guards follow her, the narrowness of the space forces them to drop back and leave Shiro a little more room. He finds himself only a few paces behind Acxa, who strides ahead with a determined glint in her eye.

"I thought you were a General," Shiro says. "Didn't realise Lotor uses you to run his errands."

They stop by a set of double doors made of ancient, blackened wood, and Acxa gives him a steely stare.

"I'm here to make sure Prince Lotor's new gladiator doesn't get damaged," she says, with a deliberate emphasis on the _'Prince'_.

Shiro holds up his bandaged stump. "Someone hacked my arm off," he says dryly. "I think that ship has sailed."

Acxa ignores this. She pushes the door open, and gestures silently inside. Shiro does as he's told, and steps into the work space behind the doors.

The room is long and narrow, with a high ceiling, and the walls are ringed by a gallery that houses bookshelves and glass cabinets of curios. This might well have been a library or workshop before the invasion; now, it is clearly in use as a laboratory. Much like the canteen in the barracks, the windows that should afford ample natural light and fresh air have been boarded over. Several huge tables occupy the centre of the floor, below a grimy skylight, and shelves full of arcane alchemical devices tower in the shadows. Purple flames flicker in the gloom, and the garish pink glow of corrupted alchemy runes throws weird shadows up over the walls.

Shiro follows Acxa into the room, and tries not to look too closely at the bizarre shapes of… _things_ on the shelves. He could've sworn he saw an eyeball. Best not to investigate that horror any further.

Three robed figures stand around one of the tables, and they turn in eerie synchrony as Shiro crosses the room, the guards fanning out to keep an eye on him. The movement reveals a forth figure, seated behind the bench: Queen Haggar herself, her hood thrown back to reveal the twisted markings on her face. Shiro looks from the witch to the other figures, and takes in their appearance: long robes, uncanny white masks that cover their faces, hands that resemble claws. The druids.

Allura told him about Haggar's druids, in one of their many rambling conversations in the wilds. They were people once, she said. One might even call them 'Blessed'. Certainly they had the gift of manipulating quintessence, and could sense and respond to the energy flowing in the natural world around them. But they mark their bodies with twisted versions of alchemy runes, in order to increase their power and control, and tap into greater reserves of energy. The process taints the body's natural quintessence, Allura said. Their energy becomes corrupted; it runs purple instead of clear white or blue. The process makes the body unnaturally strong, even as the muscles waste away and the heart slows down and the lungs become clogged with filth. Their power is not without price.

One of the robed figures steps forward, and a bony hand reaches out and grabs Shiro by the wrist. It looks like it should be weak - the druid beneath the robe looks skinny enough to blow over - but the grip is like a vice. Shiro pulls against it instinctively, but it's three druids and four guards against him, and the exercise is futile. The robed figures manhandle him into a chair, and the guards strap him in by his ankles and wrist and neck.

Cold, clammy panic rises up in Shiro's chest, and he squeezes his eyes shut and counts each breath in and out. He fights back against the urge to pull against the restraints, because feeling them tighten around his limbs only makes the anxiety worse. His left hand makes a fist so tight his nails draw blood from his palm, but he forces himself to open his eyes and ground himself in his immediate surroundings.

Acxa stands by the table, her arms folded across her chest. Queen Haggar rises from her seat, and picks up a slender selenite wand from the worktop. She stops in front of Shiro and stares at him, her head on one side, like a predator preparing to strike. He feels like he should say something to her.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asks. Not that he really wants to know. It's just that facing this ordeal in silence makes him feel complicit.

"Be quiet," Haggar says. She grabs his hair and pushes his head back against the chair, so that Shiro is forced to look into her snakelike eyes. "I don't know why my son cares so much about your fate, but believe me, I do not share his concern."

"I gathered that," Shiro mutters.

"You are here as an experimental subject, and nothing more," the witch goes on. "Your life is worthless. If this procedure fails, and you die, no one will mourn you. But you will at least have served some small purpose."

She's wrong, he tells himself. There are people who will mourn him. But they are all far away, and he is nothing and no one; and here and now, in this laboratory full of purple light and strange shadows, he fears a secret death that will go unseen. If he dies here, he'll just disappear. Another name on the endless list of those unaccounted for in the violence. His family will have no body to bury; no story to tell of how he met his end. Allura will never be able to tell anyone how much he meant to her - she will not be able to carve his name into some monument, or engrave it in the Hall of Remembrance under a likeness of his face. He will just be one more lost soul; one more name whispered into the winds of time, carried away and forgotten.

The thought of it is oddly annoying. He rescued a _Princess_ , dammit. That ought to earn him at least a tasteful bust in an alcove somewhere.

He wants to spit in Haggar's face and tell her that plenty of people will mourn his passing, but he bites his tongue. He is all too aware that Haggar does not, personally, want him to survive this. Prince Lotor might have taken a fanciful liking to him, but the Queen is indifferent. Bordering on malicious. If he speaks out of turn, Haggar might decide to let him die right here and now, and he'd rather not face death in a room full of miscellaneous eyeballs in jars. So he glares at her and says nothing.

One of the Druids pushes his sleeve up, and unwraps the bandages on his right arm. The skin underneath is a mess of criss-crossed scar tissue and stiches. Shiro stares at it, and as the panic and horror rises up from the depths, his mind goes eerily still and silent. He suddenly feels as if he is floating above his body, watching on with bored disinterest. This is all a bad dream. He'll wake up eventually.

Haggar lifts the selenite wand, and a trickle of purple energy flows into the white crystal. The very tip of the wand turns black, and Haggar holds it to Shiro's stump and begins to draw.

It's hurting. He's aware of the fact that it's hurting, and he's feeling pain right now, but the pain is so huge and abstract and overwhelming that it dulls every other thought. He can't quite seem to connect to it, or make it matter, or respond to it in any meaningful way. Instead he just drifts in and out of his body, and watches as Haggar drags the wand around the stump of his arm, and draws five alchemy symbols at intervals on the circumference. The wand leaves a black mark on his skin, like a tattoo drawn in dark ink, and under the oppressive barrage of pain and horror Shiro vaguely registers what Queen Haggar is drawing.

It's an alchemy circle, stretching all around the lowest point of his bicep, like an armband. It looks simple - it only has five symbols. Haggar connects the last one to the circle, and the black lines light up purple and then fade again, leaving the alchemy circle etched into his flesh.

Haggar drops his arm and steps back, and Shiro stares down at the strange tattoo and tries desperately to process that this is _his_ arm and _his_ skin, marked with these dark lines. The pain hits him in waves, and his awareness circles around his body at a safe distance, and the feeling of being in a dream comes and goes.

"Bring the pieces," Haggar says.

The druids assemble several metal panels on the table beside Shiro's chair. The panels form the rough shape of an arm, articulated with several wire joints and ingenious mechanisms inside. Haggar holds up some of the panels to his left arm, as if getting the measure of his limb so she can replicate it more easily, and Shiro watches the whole process in terrified fascination. When all the pieces are in place, the druids stand around the table in a half-circle, their hands on the wooden table top, and begin a low chant.

Shiro glances over at Acxa, where she stands with her arms folded, leaning on a bookshelf. Her brow furrows as the magic spell takes place. _So_. She's not too comfortable with this kind of corrupted alchemy either.

Queen Haggar raises her hand, and a ball of coiling, twisting purple energy appears above her palm. The druids pick up their chanting, and power flows out of their hands and into the table, running together to form a circle that crackles purple and black on the wood. Haggar lets the energy grow at her fingertips; then she lowers her hands, and lets the power jump out onto the silvery panels. The metal hums with quintessence - purple and pink, flecked in black shadow, crawling over the panels and parts until the entire assembly glows violet. The pieces jump together and click into place, and an arm takes shape on the bench.

The chanting stops, and the druids step away. The new prosthetic clinks as it cools, and the runoff quintessence fizzles away over the workbench. Haggar picks up the arm, and turns to Shiro. His breath comes fast and ragged as he watches her carry the arm towards him. Up close, he can see the runes carved into the panes. Around the top of the prosthetic, where it will attach to his arm, the lines of an alchemy circle are scoured into the metal.

Blind panic bursts in Shiro's chest, and he struggles against the straps that hold him to the chair. The fear makes no sense, but it grips him and squeezes the air out of his lungs and drives his heart into a frantic drumroll against his ribs. Something about the prosthetic looks and feels all wrong - the ugly metal components, the coils of purple energy, the black smoke that still curls around the fingers. The miasma of tainted quintessence rolls off it like fog off the sea.

The bony fingers of one of the druids close around Shiro's right shoulder, holding the remains of his arm in place, and he pulls helplessly against the restraint. A part of him wants to close his eyes and not see any of this, but some other wild, animal part of his brain insists that he keep his eyes open and watch the threat unfold. Haggar sets the prosthetic against his stump, and slides the arm into place.

The pain is like nothing he's felt before. It's worse than when he lost his hand in the first place. He must be yelling or screaming or thrashing but all he knows for sure  is that an agony hotter than fire is pouring into his body from the place where the metal arm meets his skin. Jagged blades of pain scatter through every inch of him, burning through his veins, scratching along his bones, dragging claws through every muscle and sinew.

When he eventually opens his eyes, his vision blurs and swims. His face is damp with tears and sweat and an ache as heavy as mountains hangs over his bones. He feels corrupted, in a way that he cannot fully explain.

Allura would probably have words to understand what is happening to him right now, and why this new arm hurts so much, and what the symbols branded into his flesh are meant to do. But she's not here, and he's all alone, and when his vision clears he desperately wishes to see her standing over him, her eyes soft with concern and affection. Just like that time with the bandits. He is terrified and in pain and he just wants her to be here - somehow - to swoop in and rescue him again - but she's long gone.

That was the plan, he reminds himself. He saved her. She's free. This is all worth it to make sure that she is safe and sound and away from all this horror.

Haggar unblurs in front of him instead. It's beyond disappointing.

"He's alive," she mutters. She doesn't exactly sound enthusiastic about that fact.

Shiro forces himself to concentrate on his breathing, and wills his heartbeat to slow down. He glances over at the arm now attached to the stub of his shoulder. It is made up of overlapping metal panels, with black leather at the joints of the elbow to allow it to bend and move. A faint purple glow runs through it, as if the space beneath the outer shell is full of violet fire.

Haggar picks up a tool from the table, and taps one of the metal fingers. And… Shiro _feels_ it. Somehow. The sensation is oddly muffled, like being touched through several layers of clothing, but it's there. Queen Haggar taps on all his fingers in turn, and dull pings of sensation ripple up the prosthetic and let him know the arm is being touched.

"Do you feel that?" she asks, and he nods.

"Good." She tosses the tool back on the table and steps back. "Now - move the arm."

He doesn't know how to do that. The whole thing still aches, and the pain makes it hard to concentrate, and he has no idea how this thing is supposed to work. But Haggar doesn't look like she's about to give him detailed instructions.

He stares at the arm and thinks about moving it. He never had to think about moving his own arm, before - it just happened. He tries looking away, and imagining himself with his actual arm still attached, and then making a fist with that hand. The creak of metal and the whir of gears makes him startle and look around.

The metal hand is clenched into a fist.

Queen Haggar's eyes give away nothing. She reaches for his hand and uncurls the fingers - and he feels that, too, however faint the sense might be.

"Again," she instructs, and Shiro repeats the exercise. This time, he manages to do it whilst looking at the prosthetic, so that he sees the slight delay and then the jerky movement as the fingers wrap around the metal palm. This is his arm, now. At least, it does what he tells it to do.

"He survived," Acxa remarks, from somewhere in the gloom. "And he can use the arm."

Shiro risks a glance at her. She's still lounging against a shelf and looking bored. He wonders what her deal is, exactly, and whom she works for. She was with Lotor in the Northern Wilds, and again in Naxum; and Lotor doesn't exactly trust Queen Haggar, and yet here is Acxa in Haggar's laboratory, commenting on her experiments. The layers of entangled webbing make his head hurt.

Haggar takes Shiro by the chin, and peers into his eyes. Whatever she finds there is apparently satisfactory, because she straightens up and taps a slender finger against the silvery metal of the prosthetic.

"This arm is powered by quintessence," she says. "Channel power into it, and it becomes a weapon. Show me that you understand."

Shiro squints up at her. "You're really going to hand me a weapon? I'm not complaining, it's just… that doesn't seem wise."

Haggar narrows her eyes at him. She holds up her hand, palm forward, and then _twists_ it in the air.

The movement does something to the arm. A bolt of pain shoots up Shiro's shoulder and into his chest, and then reverses and runs back the other way. The prosthetic lights up a vivid purple, starting at the hand and spreading up the forearm. It pulses unpleasantly, spilling tendrils of black smoke that coil around the joints, and the pain recedes to a dull ache. But it still feels like something is being pulled out of him, down his shoulder and into this metal arm.

"The Blessed can manipulate quintessence." Haggar states it conversationally, seemingly unperturbed by the eerie glow around Shiro's forearm. "This arm uses that ability. Channel your energy into it, and it becomes the weapon you see before you."

Well, that makes a kind of sense. But more to the point, Shiro now has a glowing purple hand, and Haggar is within striking distance of it. He throws the metal arm out in a punch, but the movement is only half-done before Haggar's upraised hand bunches into a tight fist.

 _This_ movement seems to drag all the power from the arm at once. The glow vanishes, and the limb thuds down onto the armrest, limp and unresponsive. Shiro stares at it and wills it to move, but this time… nothing happens.

Haggar controls the arm, then. It's not really _his_. Her magic can override his own manipulation of the prosthetic - and maybe the druids can do the same trick. If the device runs on alchemy, and they're all alchemists, well… that makes sense. Of course Haggar would never hand him a weapon that he could actually use against her. He's just her experimental subject, after all; this prosthetic is just one of her tests.

She lowers her hand, and the power returns to the prosthetic in a steady thrum.

"Do not forget your place, gladiator," Queen Haggar says. "You live only on my son's insistence."

Shiro says nothing. It occurs to him - far too late - that he just tried to punch Queen Haggar, and the cold hand of dread settles against the small of his back. By rights, he should be dead by now. He's pushing his luck to breaking point.

"You will fight in the arena," Haggar goes on. "If you learn to use this arm, perhaps you will not die straight away. But sooner or later, my son will grow bored of you, and I will have no further use for you. Except to make your death as painful and entertaining as possible."

Shiro meets her gaze, and tries not to let the fear show on his face. He has nothing to say to her. He wants to believe she's wrong, but the chances of him surviving any of this are already slim.

Haggar motions to one of the druids. "Make sure he learns how to use it," she instructs. Then she pulls up her hood and sweeps out of the room.

 

The work with the druids is exhausting and terrifying. Shiro, in theory, should be able to channel his own energy into the prosthetic to make it light up like a flare. But this is alchemy work - sacred magic - and it's not something Shiro was ever trained in. He doesn't even understand it. Allura explained it to him after his hair turned white: some people are powerfully Blessed, and know from a very young age that they can manipulate the energy in the world around them. Others might discover their gifts later. For someone like Shiro, his ability is relatively small and insignificant, and only showed up when Allura healed him. He probably will never be able to channel vast amounts of power or perform major rituals or heal the land, like Allura does. But he has just about enough ability to channel his own quintessence into a prosthetic, and make it work for him.

At least, he should have. Getting the hang of actually doing it is more of a challenge.

The druids are impatient teachers, and Shiro has to smother his own fear and discomfort and focus all his effort on getting this right. The consequences of failure are not to be thought of. It would give Haggar the perfect excuse to do away with him if he fails to get this arm to light up on command.

However, through a little trial and error, he manages to make some progress. It helps that the prosthetic seems to draw power from his body; once he gets familiar with that feeling, he's able to tap into the channel of energy and just… add more to it. As a result, after an hour of the druids barking instructions, he's able to summon the weird purple glow around the prosthetic at will. He tries not to contemplate what this is doing to his quintessence. Something in the arm seems to turn his natural energy into a cloying, unsettling purple glow.

He wishes he had Allura here to talk to. She'd know what all of this is about.

It's hard to judge the passage of time in the dim laboratory, but Shiro guesses it's an hour or so before the druids are satisfied with his control of the arm. They finally step back and beckon the guards to come and untie him from the chair. If only he weren't so bone-deep weary, he might contemplate charging the guards with his new glowing hand. As it is, he's too exhausted and disoriented and queasy to even think of putting up much of a fight.

One of the druids leans in to hold his right shoulder steady, and with his other hand he detaches the prosthetic. It comes away with a stinging pain that makes Shiro flinch and sends spots dancing across his vision, but as soon as it's actually removed, the feeling of being corrupted and tainted subsides. His body still aches and he still feels all sorts of uncomfortable in his own skin, but the worst of the fog seems to clear as soon as the prosthetic is removed. He can't get over the impression that the arm is pumping poison into his veins. Maybe that's his imagination, but the quintessence of that thing is unnatural. What if it's seeping up into his body? It's a thoroughly unpleasant thought.

The druids pack the arm away into a wooden chest, and hand the box to Acxa. She takes it in both hands and jerks her head at the guards. They pull Shiro out of the chair and set off back towards the barracks.

His legs are stiff and unresponsive, and it takes all his concentration to get them moving again and to stay upright and not collapse into the wall. Acxa strides ahead, he wooden chest held in front of her, and the sentries trail after her, Shiro hurried along in their midst.

When they step outside into the courtyard, the sun is shining bright in a clear blue sky. It must be around noon. Shiro turns his face upwards as he walks, and lets the sun's warmth soak his skin. After the oppressive gloom of the laboratory, the heat and the breeze blow away some of the melancholy that settled over him inside. The lingering sensation of poison in his veins dissipates, and he breathes a little easier.

When they arrive back at the barracks, Plytox meets them in the entrance hall. The drills outside are over, by the looks of things, and Shiro wonders where the prisoners are. Acxa hands the wooden chest to one of Plytox's assistants.

"He's to practice with the prosthetic every day," she instructs. "When not in use, it's to be kept under lock and key. The Queen will monitor his progress, so expect some visits from the druids."

Plytox looks from the box to Shiro and back to Acxa again.

"The witch gave him a weapon?" he asks. He sounds somewhere between surprise and disapproval. "I thought that honour was reserved for the Galra."

"The _Queen_ wishes to extend her experiments," Acxa says. "That's her business. I suggest you mind yours."

Plytox looks like he wants to say something more, but Acxa turns on her heel and marches off with the sentries in tow. Plytox settles for muttering under his breath, and beckons the guards to come and take Shiro back to his cell.

 

Shiro contemplates his fortunes that night, after a dinner spent sitting with Tavo and Kinkade and catching up on their impressions of the arena and the fights. Their mealtimes are not long, and Shiro finds himself locked in his room for the night before the summer sun has even set.

This is his life now, it seems. Miserable food. Training drills. Horrifying encounters with druids. A magical arm that fills him with dread. And this one small room, devoid of furniture or comforts, without even a roommate to talk to after hours.

He thinks about Haggar's words as he lies on the floor and tries to catch the last rays of sunshine through the window. _No one will mourn him if he dies_. That's what she said. He's nobody, and he's going to die here, and no one will even know.

His thoughts stray back to his family, far away in Nyhon province. He didn't talk about them much, when he was with Allura, because she had just lost everyone and it felt unfair to keep mentioning his own kin. They must be worried about him, though. His mother and grandparents. His older brother Ryou, and his younger sister Himiko. Aunts and uncles and cousins - some in Nyhon and some elsewhere, seeking their fortunes the same way Shiro did.

He used to write to his family every week, just to let them know what he was doing. As the Captain of the Royal Guard he also had the privilege of sending packages via the royal mail carriages - always swifter and more secure than the regular messengers. He used to send money and gifts every few months, so that Himiko could go to school and his mother didn't have to work so hard.

He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he'll ever see them again.

He missed most of Himiko's growing up. He left Nyhon at fifteen to join the army as a cadet, and Himi was only twelve at the time, so her progression from child to teenager to young woman all happened at a distance. Shiro visited as often as the army allowed, but it was never for long enough to feel really connected to the process of her coming of age. Every time he went back, he half-expected to see a little girl running out to greet him. The fact that she's now an adult still baffles him. He experienced her growing up as a subtle change in the tone and manner of her letters back to him; a shift from deferential younger-sibling admiration to decidedly less-deferential mockery. Ryou remained Ryou: sturdy, reliable, sensible and hardworking, perfectly cut out to be a blacksmith.

He's married now. His wife was about to give birth, according to his most recent letters, which means that Shiro is probably an uncle already. Uncle Taka the soldier, who never comes home. It's a gloomy thought.

He'd rather they know if he died. As much as his death might be bloody and painful, he still would like his family to hear of it. Because the alternative is that he just disappears, and they are left not knowing what became of him.

What would they make of his current predicament? His mother would cry - that's easy enough to deduce. Ryou would have some words of wisdom, probably. Himiko would ask him how he managed to convince a Princess to return his affections when he's such a colossal dork. She'd also probably find the prosthetic fascinating; she always did love devices and alchemy and science. He wishes he could write them a letter about it. He would tell his mother not to weep for him; he doesn't regret his choices. Thank Ryou for his support. Tell Himi he's perfectly capable of charming a Princess, thank you very much.

The sun dips towards the horizon, and the sky outside turns to pink and red as the evening draws in. Shiro sighs, and climbs into the bunk. He pulls the scratchy blanket over himself and lies there and thinks of his family, and his friends in Oriande - some living, some dead - and his chances of ever seeing them all again.

He misses Allura. His fingers find the scars on his abdomen, and he traces the shape of them, up and down, like a set of prayer beads. He feels the ghost of her hands on him, and his heart aches.

He misses being with her. They used to talk every night, and now he's alone and he has no one to share his troubles with, and they feel twice as heavy as a result. He misses the way she smiled at him; the way she looked at him when he said something outrageous and she was trying not to laugh. Being away from her feels all wrong. They're supposed to be together, surely. He's supposed to be by her side.

But he made his choice, in that last despairing moment. He did what had to be done, and now here he is. Alone. He runs his thumb over the scars, and stares away into nothing.

He is probably going to die here. In the arena, in some unfair fight for the amusement of an oppressive king. Or in Haggar's laboratory when her experiment goes wrong. One way or the other, he's going to die.

But he doesn't _want_ to. He wants to see Allura again; tell her he's sorry, ask her to forgive him, reassure her that he doesn't regret the sacrifice he made for her. He wants to see his family, and tell them the tale of how he almost escaped Altea. He wants to spit at Haggar's feet; wipe Lotor's creepy smirk right off his face. He wants to live long enough to see Allura return, and reclaim her throne, and free her people from tyranny. He can't do any of those things if he dies.

And that means he has to fight. He has to be smart, and not cause trouble unless he has to; but when it comes to the arena, he needs to fight and he needs to _win_. He should probably get in contact with Lance and Keith and their fledgling resistance, too, because his chances of surviving Oriande look a lot better if he has some support from outside the gladiator barracks. He has Tavo and Kinkade in here, and between them they need to work on some plans for overthrowing the Galra when Allura returns.

He is going to walk beside death every day, whilst he's here. But he will not go gently to his rest. There's work to be done, and a war to be completed.

Allura still needs him. He cannot die yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... i decided to give Shiro a family, because canon flat out refuses to do so. i've mentioned Shiro's family before a little bit, but this chapter has some more details about them. also: Shiro has friends! i don't have much knowledge about Kinkade's or Tavo's actual canon personalities, so i just made them up for the purposes of this part of the story. 
> 
> Acxa's an interesting character to play around with. she's fun, isn't she? anyway we'll definitely see more of her in the chapters to come. thanks for sticking around! :)


	18. blood in the dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Shiro learns some more about the resistance, and the arena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *battles through depression fog to write a new chapter* TAKE THAT BRAIN GREMLINS
> 
> (for real it's been a stressful heckin' few weeks cos of random irl shit but this was an awesome chapter to write so - enjoy!)

It takes Shiro ten days of training to learn to use the prosthetic arm properly. He knows because he counts them. He swipes a stone from the training ground and hides it under his mattress, and every morning he makes a tally on the wall. It's the only way to keep track of time: the daily routine of the prison is so monotonous that the days threaten to blend together into an endless blur, with no beginning or end in sight.

He doesn't want to get cut adrift and go mad in here. Allura is still waiting for him on the outside.

His days are all the same. He wakes up to the sound of the guards ringing bells and banging on doors and dragging prisoners out of bed. He eats breakfast - such as it is - in the canteen with Tavo and Kinkade, and tries to snatch a few minutes of conversation when the soldiers aren't watching. After that, they're all turned out into the yard for training drills, and given weapons to spar with. Shiro works on lighting up the arm and manipulating its glow into something he can use in a fight. His training is overseen either by the druids, or one of Lotor's Generals; they come down to the barracks, yell instructions at him, and then leave again - presumably to report back to Haggar.

The Queen does not summon him back to her laboratory, or run any more experiments on him. Whatever observations the druids take back to her, they don't seem to require any close monitoring. They attach the arm, watch Shiro work with it, and then leave once training is over.

In the afternoons, the prisoners are sometimes allowed to spend an hour or so out in the yard, or in the mess hall; but for the rest of the time, they are confined to their cells. They go down for dinner in the evening, and have an hour to eat before they are locked in for the night. The routine is the same, day in and day out, and the only break in the cycle comes from the occasional cell inspection by Commander Plytox.

So Shiro takes to counting the days, because otherwise it feels like time is repeating itself in a never-ending cycle; like he has always been here and always will be. He needs the little tally marks on the wall to remind him that there was a time before all this - a time when he was outside, free, in control of his own life; not a prisoner or a gladiator or an experiment for some witch. A person. Not simply another face blurring into a crowd.

That memory is important, because as the days go by it becomes increasingly obvious that Haggar's prosthetic arm has a powerful effect on him. Whatever tainted quintessence runs the thing, it leaks back into Shiro's body somehow. He doesn't know how it works, or why, but whenever he uses it, it feels like poison pumping into his veins.

At least it hurts less every time he reattaches it. The first few times are agony, but after a while the pain eases and his stump heals more and the attachment becomes merely uncomfortable. Physically, the arm is surprisingly easy to use: he thinks about what he wants to do, and the arm does it, and after a few days it's as automatic as using his actual, flesh-and-blood hand. When he pours quintessence into the prosthetic, the arm becomes a powerful weapon that can cut through metal and dent rock. So far, so good. At least he won't go down easy in the arena.

But the device is still toxic. Every time Shiro uses it, the sensation of creeping corruption overpowers him. The thing runs on dark magic - a perversion of alchemy that is unnatural and harmful. That same perversion made Allura sick, when they were on the road; and that was just from Haggar doing something to the Temples and warping the power of the land. This arm is physically attached to Shiro's body, every day. And he doesn't know enough about alchemy or quintessence or energy flows to know how to resist the corrupted energy, or how to heal himself from whatever it's doing to him.

He doesn't get sick. Not in his body, anyway; although he watches out for signs of it. His muscles ache from training, but he's not any more tired than he would expect, given the level of exertion. He's not feverish. There's no physical signs of illness. Maybe that will come later? Maybe it takes time?

But the corruption seeps into his mind and his heart, and fills his head with dark and melancholy thoughts. Every day, he picks up the arm and trains for a few hours, and by the end of it he's weary in his very soul. Weary of living and carrying on. Whatever tainted magic is leaking into his body, it makes him miserable. It brings with it disturbing thoughts: of death, of pain and sorrow, of loss. It robs him of hope and optimism. The prosthetic equips him with the tools to fight, even as it crushes his will to do so. He loses sight of himself, and all the things he has to fight for.

It takes a conscious effort of will to shake off the misery, once the prosthetic is back in its wooden box for the day and he's free to return to his cell. He tells himself it's just dark magic - the thoughts are not real, the demons in his head are invaders, and he doesn't need to listen to them. But it's hard. He spends so much time alone, with no one to bring him back to himself or reality. It would be all too easy to sink into despair and give up, but he can't do that. People still need him. He has to keep fighting.

He develops strategies to help himself, so that he has something else to focus on. The loss of his right arm makes even mundane tasks suddenly difficult, so he flips that on its head and turns it into a challenge. Everything he can't do becomes a problem to be solved, and he makes a game out of finding inventive ways to change his clothes or lace up his boots or wash his face. As the days drag on and the monotony threatens to drown him, he finds himself consciously and deliberately picking things to work on, and then practicing them in his cell, over and over, until he gets good at them. His arm isn't coming back, after all. He needs to learn to live without it, and it gives him something productive to do. Every time he masters some seemingly insignificant daily task, he feels a little more in control of his situation. He's beaten down but he's not done, yet. And he's not going out easy, either.

On the days when the magic from the arm feels most corrosive and bitter and terrifying, he falls back on copying Allura's daily prayers. He saw them so often, in the six weeks they spent together, that he remembers the entire sequence by heart - words, postures, hand movements - all of it. He's not good at doing them - and he only has one arm, now, so he can't really perform them properly. But some instinct drives him to try it. Allura did say he's a little bit Blessed, and these prayers are a ritual that's supposed to help the Blessed and… restore their quintessence? Stabilise it? He never really understood, and he regrets not asking more about it when he had the chance. Being Blessed and saying prayers was Allura's thing. Now it's suddenly his thing, too, and he wishes he could ask her about it, somehow.

He misses her so much it physically hurts, and that doesn't help with the melancholy induced by the arm. He tries to stay positive and hopeful and focused… but at night he lies alone in his bunk, fingers tracing the scars that Allura left on his abdomen, and his heart aches.

It's an unfamiliar feeling. He had lovers, before. He had serious relationships with people he deeply cared about, and he's been _in love_ with other people, in the past. And he's a soldier, so sometimes he had to leave a companion for days or weeks or even months at a time. And it stung and he hated it, but… it never hurt like this. It never felt like his soul was being ripped out of him.

Maybe it's because he doesn't know if he'll ever see Allura again. Or because they were torn away from each other without really getting the chance to say goodbye. But there's something else to it, too; something he doesn't know how to explain. He felt _connected_ to her - as if they were joined together by some thread that bound both their hearts. And that sensation of connection remains, even though they are hundreds of miles apart. He turns his head and expects to see her, in the corner of whatever room he's in. He runs laps around the training ground and expects to see her waiting for him when he's done. He rolls over in bed at night, and his arm reaches out for someone who isn't there - for the person who should be beside him, but is somehow far away instead.

He wonders if Allura feels anything like this, wherever she is right now. He wonders if she lies awake at night and thinks of him; if she reaches out in the dark for his hand and finds only empty air.

He dreams of her often. Sometimes in fragments of memories, and sometimes in terrifying scenarios where she bleeds and dies and he is helpless to prevent it. But mostly he dreams of her smile; of her head resting on his chest and her arms wrapped around him and the warmth of her body in his embrace. Those dreams are a comfort, while they last, but they are a bittersweet torture to wake up from.

Sometimes, when the pain and frustration and despair threatens to bury him alive, he dreams of a black lion with golden eyes. The lion walks beside him, and he wakes up full of steel and fire and fury. He won't give in and die. Not just yet.

 

The limits on their free time and the constant presence of the guards make it hard for Shiro to sit down and talk to Kinkade and Tavo. They are always on edge, or half-listening out for sentries, and conversation is snatched and wary. As a result, it takes a few days for them to fully brief Shiro on the status of the fledgling resistance in Oriande. They have the conversations in bits and pieces, and Shiro is left to fit it all together on his own time.

There are days when his training with the arm leaves him so drained and bad-tempered that he longs for some idle gossip or some of Kinkade's funny stories, instead of the heavy discussion of rebels and tactics. But with so little time for themselves, he's also acutely aware of the need to gather as much information as he can from his friends. He shelves his own needs for now and focuses on using whatever moments they snatch together to discuss how Lance is doing with his 'drama group'.

It quickly becomes clear that organisation is a problem. No one in the resistance is ranked higher than a lieutenant; none of them are fully-fledged officers used to command or responsibility. They've done a good job so far, but recruitment is too slow and they haven't started meddling with rotas or infiltrating key departments in the Castle; and from what Shiro can tell, morale isn't great either. No one knows if Princess Allura is really alive and planning to return, and many of the younger cadets are talking about plans to flee the city rather than stay and fight.

They need guidance. And they need good news, and an objective to work towards. By the sounds of it, they are in the kind of mood that used to prompt Shiro to do extra inspections and drills when he was Captain of the Guard. Unfortunately, getting word out to the resistance members is not a straightforward task.

The most sensible way to pass messages would be to switch up the rotas so that a resistance member could be stationed inside the gladiator barracks, where they could find opportunities to speak to the prisoners inside. As it is, Kinkade and Tavo - in their capacity as older officers - are trying their best to advise the cadets in the resistance, but their means of communicating with the outside world is a brief window of opportunity on the training ground during drills.

"That's when we get to speak to the messengers," Kinkade explains, as they stroll around the yard one afternoon, during a rare break.

"They don't have anyone working inside the barracks?" Shiro asks.

"They're too scared," Tavo says. "They're worried about getting caught."

Shiro frowns, and kicks at the dirt with the toe of his boot. They need shaking up, it seems. He knew Lance wasn't the rebellious type, but even so. They need to get some backbone, otherwise this resistance is going to limp out of the race before it's even begun.

"Alright, so how _do_ you send messages?" he asks.

They continue their aimless walk around the training ground as Kinkade and Tavo explain it. Every morning, the drills start the same way: everyone runs five laps of the yard. Part of this circuit takes the prisoners close to an old equipment shed in one corner of the training ground, and the location is slightly shaded by overhanging trees and not easily visible from the Commander's podium. On the first lap of the day, the sentries usually watch the prisoners closely and pester them into running faster, but their attention wanes by the second lap. It's possible - with careful timing - to duck out of the drills on that second lap and hide behind the equipment shed. There, a representative from the resistance waits behind a latrine and some bushes, and they can speak through the fence for a few minutes.

"And that works?" Shiro asks.

Tavo nods. "By the Grace of the Goddess, it's safe enough as long as you make sure the guards aren't looking."

"You do this every day?" Shiro asks.

Kinkade shakes his head. "There's a signal. When we run past the shed on the first lap, we look for the mop bucket behind the latrine on the other side. If the bucket is upright with the mop in it, that means someone's waiting. If it's on its side, there's no one there. Upside down is a danger signal, but we've never had to use that."

Shiro takes this all in as they reach the end of the yard and turn back, walking casually and trying to look like they're discussing nothing of importance. As they cross the field, he snatches a quick glance at the shed, and the hiding spot. It looks like it will be easy enough to simply run behind it; and then run out again on the other side and re-join the training drills as if nothing had happened.

"We don't both go at the same time," Tavo says. "Too risky. We take it in turns."

"I'll go with you, the first time," Kinkade says to Shiro. "Show you how it's done. But after that we should just take turns. It's too suspicious if we all disappear at once."

Shiro nods, one eye on the sentries, and they switch to talking about idle topics. But he mulls over the plan as he glances back at the equipment shed. It's risky for the prisoners - more so than for the soldiers outside - and he resolves to come up with other ways to talk to the resistance.

 

A couple of days later, as they jog around the training yard in the heat of the morning sun, Kinkade nudges Shiro on the shoulder. Shiro glances at the space behind the shed - and spots the mop propped up in the bucket. An informant is waiting.

His heart hammers against his ribs, and he focuses on keeping calm and checking on the position of the guards. He still can't run very well without the prosthetic on, and it takes all his concentration to time his exit from the training drill without rousing suspicion. He hangs back behind Kinkade, and as they round the bend and the crowd of prisoners passes in front of the shed, Kinkade veers off to the side and ducks behind the building, Shiro close on his heels.

He stops in the sheltered space behind the outhouse, his hand on his knee, trying to get his breath back. The alleyway is dirty and abandoned and full of broken sparring weapons, but it's completely out of sight of any of the sentries or Commander Plytox. Shiro looks up at the fence, and sees a familiar figure standing on the other side: a well-built Hanyin woman with her hair in a braid and her hand on the pommel of her sword.

"Elia," Shiro says. He trained her in the capitol a few years ago, and they remained friends ever since. He drops into Hon-sun automatically, and crosses to the fence to greet her.

"It's good to see you," he says. He reaches his hand through the fence, and Elia grasps it warmly and smiles at him. Despite the grim circumstances, it's good to see another friend.

"You too, Captain," she says. "We've heard all sorts of rumours. Good to see you're actually alive."

"What's the report, Elia?" Kinkade asks, and Elia reverts back to Altean to reply to him.

"Nothing much," Elia says. "We heard some whispers that Shiro was captured, so I came to find out the truth."

"Well, here he is. The man of the hour." Kinkade slaps a hand down on Shiro's shoulder so hard he sags sideways, and Elia grins.

"So is it true?" Elia asks. "You and the Princess found _~love~_ in the wilds?"

Shiro's eyebrows shoot up. "Who's saying that?"

"There's songs about it," Elia says. "I just wanna know if it really happened or if it's a baseless rumour."

"Forget it," Kinkade says. "I've been pestering him for days and he still won't tell me."

"That means it's true, then," Elia says. "Good for you, Captain."

"Is this relevant?" Shiro asks testily. "We only have a few minutes before we have to rejoin the drill."

"Fine, fine," Elia says, but the amused smirk doesn't leave her face. "So what are your orders, Captain?"

Shiro thinks quickly. They really don't have much time, and he needs to get a message out as succinctly as possible.

"Listen. Princess Allura is alive," he says. He keeps his voice low, even though there's little chance of being overheard. "She's alive, and she's not in Altea anymore. She escaped. She's coming back with an army to retake the country."

"When?" Elia asks. Her eyes are bright and eager, and all traces of teasing are gone. She'd make a good officer, Shiro thinks. If they all get out of this alive, he'll recommend her for a promotion.

"I don't know. That very much depends on how helpful our allies are. But she's definitely coming back, so we need to be ready for her."

"We've made a start," Elia says. "But it's hard work. Most of the recruits are cadets; a lot of the senior officers went over to the Galra side. Or they didn't make it."

"Well, tell them they're working for a promotion," Shiro says. "Altea is depending on them, and so is the Princess. Tell me about the resistance so far."

Elia rattles off the details as quickly as possible, and Shiro frowns and chews his knuckles and tries to take it all in. Numbers, ranks… not enough, and like Elia says, they're mostly cadets. No one from outside the Castle, either; no civilians from the city who could be useful. Their plans so far are scattered and mostly designed to cause a nuisance rather than be seriously disruptive. Footsteps thud on the packed earth on the other side of the shed, as the prisoners run past on lap three of their jog, and Shiro is all too aware that they're almost out of time.

"It's a good start," he says to Elia. "Keep at it for now. I'll have some more concrete orders soon. For the time being, tell everyone that the Princess is definitely coming back."

Elia nods. She glances at Kinkade before she slips back into Hon-sun.

"One other thing, Shiro…" she says. She takes a deep breath. "I know he's your ex, but I figured you'd want to know. Curtis… he survived the attack. He's alive. He's still in the city, but he's safe. I saw him a few weeks ago."

Shiro lets out a breath that he didn't remember holding. Yes, Curtis is an ex, but he's a good person and the breakup was amicable and Shiro still cares for him deeply. The relief of knowing he survived the violence hits him unexpectedly, and he blinks back tears that take him by surprise. It's good news - and that has been hard to come by in the barracks. After everything else he's been through, it's one blessed bright spot. At least he didn't have to stand here and receive the news that he lost someone else.

"Thanks, Elia," Shiro says. "Thank you for telling me. I'm glad he made it."

Elia nods her understanding. She grasps Shiro's hand one final time, and then turns and slips away down the gap between buildings. Shiro turns back to Kinkade, who stands near the corner of the shed. The sound of running footsteps approaches, and Kinkade beckons him to the wall. They wait for their opportunity, and as the prisoners run past they slip out and join the group as if they never left it.

 

Twelve days into Shiro's imprisonment, Commander Plytox lines up the gladiators in the yard before their morning drills.

"The next games will take place in two days' time," he announces. An assistant hands him a red scroll, and he unfurls it. "These are your contest assignments. Listen carefully."

Shiro's stomach drops, and he suddenly feels sick. Of course he knew about the gladiator fights; a battle in the arena was always an inevitability. But it feels like too much, too soon. Now that it's here, he's not ready for it.

Plytox starts reading out names and events, and Shiro glances at Kinkade next to him, and Tavo a few rows in front. Neither of them seem overly worried, but maybe they're used to this by now. Some of the other prisoners look more concerned, but others just look bored or resigned.

"Tavo, Kinkade - chariots," Plytox reads, and then lists a few more names. Kinkade catches Shiro's eye, and gives him a cheery wink. Maybe 'chariots' is a good thing.

"And… _Captain_ Shirogane," Plytox says. "You will fight Zarkon's Champion, Sendak."

A murmur rises from the ranks of prisoners, and several concerned faces turn in Shiro's direction before the men hastily look away. Shiro looks up at Kinkade, who martials his own shocked expression into an encouraging grin that's less than compelling.

"I take it that's not a good pick?" Shiro asks.

"You'll be fine," Kinkade says. "You got this."

"Yep," Shiro sighs. "I'm gonna die."

 

He probably will not die, according to Kinkade and Tavo. They explain the ways of the arena to him that afternoon; Plytox is in a good mood and gives them an extended break in the mess hall, and Shiro sits with his friends and tries to understand how the arena works.

"Plytox always acts like it's so dangerous," Kinkade says. "But you can survive it as long as you're smart."

"Well that rules me out, then," Shiro mutters, and Tavo laughs.

"You've got a magic arm," he says. "And the Goddess's blessings."

He points at Shiro's white hair, and Shiro self-consciously pushes the strands away from his face.

"I'm not sure about _blessings_ ," he says. "What's this Sendak guy like, anyway?"

He can't recall him from his soldier days, and as Kinkade and Tavo describe him, he realises it's a Galra he's never met. Sendak is Zarkon's Champion - his prized gladiator, winner of the most fights, Zarkon's representative in the ring and so on - and as such is a formidable opponent. He's also a high ranking Commander in Zarkon's army.

"He has a magic witch arm, too," Kinkade says. "Big scary thing. I mean. A… manageably over-sized thing. Too bulky, if you ask me. Way too cumbersome. Completely a disadvantage."

Shiro glares at him half-heartedly, and he trails off into awkward coughing, and stares at his feet.

"You're going to have to watch out for the arm," Tavo says. "But apart from that, Kinkade's right. He's big and slow and likes to show off. And you only have to fight him to a standstill. You don't need to kill him."

"It's not a fight to the death?" Shiro asks. For some reason, he expected it to be - maybe because Plytox keeps gleefully telling him he's going to die. But both Kinkade and Tavo scoff at the idea.

The arena, Kinkade explains, exists for the amusement of King Zarkon and the high-ranking Galra nobility who are staying in Oriande to oversee the invasion and the carving up of Altea. As long as Zarkon is entertained by proceedings, he doesn't much care if the fighters live or die. In fact, the most accomplished fighters are usually spared from the death matches, because Zarkon enjoys watching them; mediocre or boring fighters stand a higher chance of being given the thumbs down.

"Thumbs down?" Shiro asks. "What does that mean?"

"If two gladiators fight and one beats the other, but doesn't kill him," Tavo says, "the gladiator's sponsor gets to decide if they live or die. Thumbs up means they're spared. Thumbs down…"

Tavo demonstrates the gesture, and Kinkade helpfully runs a finger across his throat. The death blow. Right.

"If you beat Sendak but don't kill him, and he's down injured," Kinkade explains, "Zarkon gets the final say on whether Sendak lives or dies. If he's pleased with how Sendak fought - despite losing - he'll spare him. And if he's displeased… you'll have to kill him. That's how it works."

Shiro stares at the floor and mulls this over. He's killed people before, obviously - but never like this. This is an execution for sport, not a fair fight on a battlefield. The thought of having to strike a death blow on the whim of a tyrannous emperor makes his blood run cold. If Sendak tries to kill him and he defends himself, fair enough. But this… he shudders, and tries to hide it.

On the other hand…

"Does this mean Lotor gets to decide if I live or die?" he asks.

"You're his gladiator, right?" Kinkade asks, and Shiro nods.

"Then yes," Tavo says. "If you lose, Lotor decides if you get spared or if you get killed by your opponent."

"Well, that's terrifying," Shiro mutters. His life is in the hands of a man who is definitely hiding things, and who _definitely_ has some agenda he's not revealing even to his closest family members. Lotor has no reason to keep him alive - and yet here he is. He can't escape the impression that he's being handed over as an easy kill for Sendak, and that he's expected to roll over and die in an interesting fashion. He feels like a puppet having his strings pulled, and it fills him with an intense and irrational anger. He's doesn't like feeling this out of control. His fate is out of his own hands, and it stings.

"Any tips for staying alive, then?" he asks.

"The trick is to be entertaining," Kinkade advises. "Put on a good show. If the crowd gets behind you, your sponsor will keep you alive for the sake of their own popularity."

"We got good at chariot races," Tavo adds. "And those are always a winner with the audience, so we're pretty much set as long as we don't make any stupid mistakes."

"It's as much about politics as anything else," Kinkade goes on. "Lotor doesn't have many gladiators, and he cares about being popular. So he tends to let his fighters live."

Shiro nods absently. That fits with his general impression of Lotor - someone who wants to play to the crowd, and present a carefully crafted image. Even before the invasion, the man always seemed to wear a mask.

Kinkade slaps him on the back, and it shakes Shiro out of his thoughts.

"You'll be fine," he says cheerfully. "I mean… you're gonna lose. But as long as you lose in an amusing fashion, you'll live."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Shiro says, and Kinkade laughs.

Maybe he's just saying it as a wind-up. Shiro ponders his chances as he traipses back to his cell that evening after dinner. _Lose in an amusing fashion_ , huh. Well, fuck that. He's going to go in there to _win_. Not least because he doesn't share Kinkade's confidence that Lotor will let him live if he fails.

 

The day of the gladiator tournament, Plytox is in a good mood. He struts about, promising privileges and rewards to any fighters who win their bouts, and urging the gladiators to 'do him proud'. Breakfast is bigger and nicer than usual, and training is limited to a few brief drills. A holiday air hangs over the barracks, aided by the good weather: the sun shines bright in a clear blue sky, and the day is warm with only a hint of a breeze.

The mood is completely lost on Shiro. Nerves make him queasy and restless, and he can barely eat, despite Kinkade's encouragement and Tavo's reassurances. No matter what they say, there's no escaping the fact that in a few hours he will have to fight for his life. He can hardly expect Zarkon's Champion to go easy on him.

At noon, the gladiators are lined up in the training yard and marched over to the arena. This part of the Castle was rarely used when Alfor was King, but under Zarkon's rule the amphitheatre is once more bustling with life and noise and excitement. Shiro is led with the other prisoners down a tunnel to the underground chambers, where weapons and armour stand on racks, and the overseers herd them into bathing and changing rooms to get ready for the bouts.

Shiro is given armour… of sorts. He is stripped to the waist and handed a chest guard that covers his upper torso and left shoulder. It's made of leather, sewn with a few metal plates; hardly sturdy protection against a determined opponent. Kinkade helps him strap it in place, because his prosthetic is still sitting in a box in the overseer's office; he won't get it until just before his fight.

Shiro's battle is last, which gives him the opportunity to observe the rest of the games, and get a feel for how they work. Most of the gladiators congregate in one room near to the arena entrance; the room is below ground level, but there's a window high on one wall that opens onto the ring. The prisoners line up to peer out through the bars and watch proceedings as best they can from their low vantage point.

The games start with a lot of fanfare, and a speech from King Zarkon. It's in Galran, and muffled by the distance, and Shiro tunes it out as uninteresting. Probably some pomp about the success of the invasion or the might of the Empire or something. After that, there's trumpets and bells and a lot of cheering, and the first gladiators are turned out into the ring to entertain the crowd.

The contests play out much like Kinkade and Tavo described - a lot of entertainment and flair, and a lot less blood and merciless killing than Plytox implied in his dire warnings about the dangers of the games. Some of the bouts are races, or feats of strength or skill, and at first it seems like no one will die. There are a few injuries, and some of the gladiators are carried back into the changing rooms covered in blood, but they are mostly walking wounded. The anxiety eases from Shiro's chest. This isn't so awful. Rough and uncivilised, maybe, but survivable.

Tavo and Kinkade return from their chariot race, sweaty and dusty but otherwise unscathed, and there's a brief lull in proceedings as the Galra stewards make another announcement. A gong rings, somewhere high above, and an unexpected hush settles over the arena.

"Now we get to the serious part," Kinkade says.

"Goddess protect us," Tavo murmurs.

"What is it?" Shiro asks.

"The real fights," Kinkade tells him, and it occurs to Shiro that his own battle with Sendak very much falls under this category. This, then, is when the contest gets dangerous.

He moves up closer to the window, Tavo and Kinkade beside him, and the crowds part to let him through. He peers out, and spots a section of Alteans in the crowd, high up in the stands. They are too far away to make out individual faces, but they're smaller and more subdued than the boisterous Galrans cheering from the other seats.

"Alteans come to watch this?" Shiro asks.

"Some of the soldiers, yeah," Kinkade says.

"It is a show of solidarity," Tavo says. "It reminds the Galra we are not animals to be killed for sport."

A cheer goes up outside, and Shiro looks out at the arena. A Galra soldier marches out, waving a curved blade high in the air to acknowledge the enthusiasm of the crowd. The herald shouts his name and rank, and he wears purple and black ribbons tied to his armour: King Zarkon's colours.

"That's Nyrik, one of Zarkon's best fighters," Kinkade says. "Huge crowd favourite."

Shiro can tell. The Galra spectators are out of their seats, cheering and waving flags and making a huge noise for Nyrik. He plays to their adoration, winking and pointing his sword at the audience, soaking up the chants and praise. The heralds let this go on for a few minutes, before the crowd quiets down and they announce Nyrik's opponent: an Altean gladiator from the barracks. His name is Gera, and Shiro doesn't know him at all except by sight. The steward reads his name, and the overseers shove him out into the ring, where he stumbles to a halt.

The Galra crowd boos and jeers. The vitriol takes Shiro by surprise - they weren't this worked up over the other gladiator fights. But this is an Altean pitted against a popular Galra fighter. The loyalties are painfully clear. Gera stands on the dirt, the fear obvious on his face.

A noise high up in the stands makes Shiro turn to look. The Altean soldiers rise to their feet. They do not cheer or yell, or try to shout down the Galra spectators around them. They stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on Gera on the arena floor.

An officer near the front of the Altean contingent makes a fist with his right hand, and beats it on the left side of his chest. A double-tap, like a heartbeat: boom- _boom_. Boom- _boom_. The Alteans around him pick up the rhythm, and they strike their chests in unison. No words, no cries, no flags, no banners: just a salute that sounds like a beating, living heart. It echoes under and around the jeers of the Galra crowds, eerie and melancholy; a rhythm of mourning and respect. It is a salute that welcomes death to the arena. They know they are here to watch their comrade die.

Shiro shivers, despite the heat of the day and the sweaty, stuffy warmth of the room and the bodies packed around him. Gera looks like he knows he's going to die, too. He turns his anguished face to the Alteans, and lifts one hand in acknowledgement. Then he pulls down the visor of his helmet, and faces his opponent.

Shiro leans sideways and speaks near Kinkade's ear. "He's not wearing any colours. So he doesn't have a sponsor?"

"No. He's unaligned. If he loses, his fate is up to Zarkon."

Shiro curses under his breath, and turns to watch the fight. To his credit, Gera does his best to prolong it, and make a contest of it. But it's clear from the start that he's outmatched; that the fight is not designed to be fair. Nyrik is popular enough that every strike and blow has the crowd yelling and chanting his name. He's tall and nimble, and has the benefit of better weaponry, and he's a skilled fighter. Gera doesn't stand a chance.

Nyrik knows how to play to the crowd, and he drags out the battle in a way that clearly delights the audience. But Gera tires, and Nyrik presses his advantage, and the fight ends with the Altean flat on his back and bleeding in the dirt. It's hard to watch it play out, but Shiro doesn't look away, and neither do the other prisoners - or the Alteans in the crowd. The least they can do for Gera is bear witness to his final moments.

Nyrik stands over him, and the cheers of the crowd die down into expectant silence. High up in the stands, the Altean soldiers begin their salute once more - boom- _boom_ , boom- _boom_ \- counting out the last heartbeats of Gera's life. King Zarkon rises from his throne, and spares Gera one pitying look. He holds out a hand, and turns his thumb down to the earth.

Gera only has time to squeeze his eyes shut, and then Nyrik drives his sword through the man's heart. Blood pools on the dark earth, and the crowd cheers and screams and chants Nyrik's name.

Shiro looks from Gera's still form to the Altean soldiers in the audience, who stand with their fists pressed to their hearts and their heads bowed. How many deaths have they come to witness here? How many friends and comrades struck down and left in the dirt? He understands why they come; why they put themselves through this horror. They come to pay respects, and to remember; to mark down the names of the dead, memorise their faces. They come so that the prisoners forced to fight and die for Zarkon's amusement do not have to die alone.

Two sentries drag Gera's body out of the arena, and Nyrik soaks up the applause of the spectators before the stewards usher him away. Musicians strike up a tune, and the assembled crowd buzzes with anticipation of the next fight.

"Shirogane!"

Shiro turns to find Plytox himself standing in the doorway, one hand on his belt and a nasty look on his face.

"You're up," Plytox says. "Get ready."

Cold, clammy dread fills Shiro's veins. He feels sick and dizzy, but he can't afford to be unfocused. Tavo murmurs a blessing, and Kinkade claps him on the shoulder.

"Remember: just be entertaining," he says. "Avoid the arm. Stay alive."

Shiro only nods, because he doesn't trust his voice with words right now. He follows Plytox out of the room to the antechamber, where a huge gate opens onto the arena floor. An assistant attaches the prosthetic, and he winces in discomfort as the metal arm connects and he flexes the fingers experimentally. The sentries hand him a spear, and tie blue and orange ribbons to his armour and upper arm. Prince Lotor's colours, for Prince Lotor's gladiator.

"I shall enjoy watching your death," Plytox says. He hands Shiro a helmet, and Shiro takes it wordlessly and rams it on his head. He pushes the visor up, because with it down he feels like he can barely breathe.

This is it, then. Time to face death. Again.

He stands in the antechamber and waits as the heralds announce Sendak, and the crowd cheers. He thinks of Allura, and all her sweetness, and how all of this is for her. When he closes his eyes, he sees her face; hears her voice and her laugh, even over the roar of the arena. Then the gates roll open; the heralds announce his name, and it is time to go.

He walks out onto the packed earth of the arena and into a wall of noise. Tiers full of spectators tower above him, jeering and booing as he walks out; they wave banners or flags, and some hold hand-drawn signs declaring their allegiance to one fighter or another. King Zarkon sits in the royal box - perched above the arena floor, shaded with screens and awnings, hung with the Emperor's distinctive purple banners. Queen Haggar sits beside him, the hood of her cloak thrown back; Prince Lotor sits on the other side of his mother, his face giving nothing away.

Beyond the noise, Shiro hears the thump- _thump_ , thump- _thump_ of the Alteans, high up in the stands. He wonders if he knows any of them, or if they recognised his name from the announcement. Is Elia up there? Tadashi? Keith? They're too far away to make out specific faces. Shiro turns to look at them anyway, and raises the spear in his left hand. He ought to feel terrified, but now that he's out here, an odd sense of calm settles over him even as his heart races and the fire of imminent battle burns through his veins. Death is here, in the arena, somewhere close by; but he is not afraid to die. He is only afraid that his death will have no meaning when it comes.

He turns back to Sendak, where he stands just below the royal box, and as the boos of the crowd subside he takes the opportunity to size up his opponent. The Galran commander is huge - a head taller even than Tavo - but he looks like he'd be slow moving around. He has purple fur, and an eyepatch over one eye - poor vision, then, and will struggle to estimate distance. That's a weakness. Just as Kinkade said, Sendak has a prosthetic - but unlike Shiro's, it's huge and spiked, the hand an ugly claw. From this distance Shiro can't tell if it's capable of the same magical glow as his own metal arm. The taint of corrupted quintessence seeps into him from his prosthetic, but he summons all his concentration and pushes it back and away and down. He can't afford to get distracted. He needs all the focus he can muster.

The crowd falls silent, and King Zarkon rises to his feet. The audience murmurs in surprise. Zakron gestures over the balcony of the royal box, and one clawed finger points straight at Shiro's chest.

"Behold," Zarkon announces, in flawless Altean. "This is the Captain of the Royal Guard. Princess Allura's last protector, who carried her out of Oriande. Your precious Princess is lost, alone in the wilds. And her guard is now my prisoner. He fights for Prince Lotor, and for my own amusement."

Shiro frowns up at him, and risks a glance at the Altean soldiers high up in the stands, watching this unfold. Do they know that Princess Allura survived? The story of her escape from the Castle is nothing more than a rumour in Oriande; whenever Shiro confirms it to people, their eyes light up with hope and surprise. Zarkon is trying to tell these people that their Princess is gone forever.

Shiro takes in Zarkon's sneering face. He seems very certain of the outcome here, and Shiro wonders if this is also Lotor's plan. Present Allura's loyal knight as a broken gladiator, then watch him fight and die, robbing the surviving Alteans of any last optimism they might have left. Well, fuck that nonsense. If he's going to die here anyway, he might as well get in the last word.

"I don't fight for you!" he declares, and the words echo around the whole arena, bouncing off the stands and pillars and rising into the summer air. The crowd hushes, and Zarkon's eyebrows raise in amusement and surprise.

"I fight for Altea, and I fight for Princess Allura," Shiro goes on, each word falling into the sudden, breathless silence opening up around him. "She is alive. And she will return to reclaim her kingdom and her throne. And on that day, I will drive a spear through your heart myself."

He points his spear at Zarkon as he says it, and it earns him gasps and mutters from the crowd. His hand trembles, but he squeezes his fingers around the haft and stands firm. He'll pay for this later, if he survives - but he was sent out here to die, and if Zarkon or Lotor or any of them expect him to go down easy, they can think again.

A slow smile spreads over King Zarkon's face. "Princess Allura's Champion, hmm?" he says, his tone mocking. "I shall enjoy watching you break and bleed."

He sits back on his throne and signals to the heralds. Shiro tugs down the visor of his helmet, hefts his spear, and turns to face Sendak. The bouts start with a trumpet blast, and the wait for that first note seems to drag out for an age. And then it comes, and Shiro has no time to think of anything or anyone except his own survival.

Sendak charges straight at him, and that immediately tells him something: that Sendak relies on strength and intimidation to gain the upper hand. Sendak's arm lights up purple, but the glow is not as bright or intense as Shiro's own prosthetic, and that tells him something else about its power. Then Sendak is upon him, and he has to stop thinking and just react.

Sendak fights with a war hammer - big and cumbersome and slow - and Shiro dodges the first strike easily, ducks under Sendak's arm, and swings his spear around at the Galra's back. The point scrapes harmlessly down Sendak's armour, and Shiro curses and rolls away across the dirt. Sendak comes roaring after him, and he dodges back behind a pillar and jabs his spear at Sendak's legs. Another strike that Shiro avoids - and he dances back another few steps and gets his back to another pillar.

His mind races away in the background and his breath comes fast and ragged as he tries to scrape together a plan to survive this. Sendak really is big and slow, but the hammer is powerful and that arm looks like it could crush a man's skull. Shiro will tire faster than Sendak, because the Commander is well-fed and well-rested, which means he needs to be smart and quick about this. Sendak's hammer comes whistling around again, and Shiro drops and rolls and kicks out at Sendak's knees before darting away.

He powers up the arm, and over the roar of his own blood in his ears he hears mutters and exclamations from the crowd.

"I see you have spent some time with the druids," Sendak says. "It's just a shame you didn't get the latest model."

He holds up his own clawed hand for emphasis, and sparks of purple quintessence dance along the silver metalwork. Is that arm more powerful than Shiro's own? He might be about to find out. Sendak swings the arm at him, and Shiro swerves at the last second and lets the blow crash into the ground beside him. A spray of purple lightning crackles out from the arm, but there's no overwhelming burst of power. So. The arm is all show; the quintessence just runoff. Sendak isn't an alchemist.

He dodges away again, and focuses on evading Sendak's blows. Sendak alternates between the arm and the hammer, and Shiro keeps out of range of both and scrambles for a way to actually _beat_ Sendak. The crowd boos and jeers every time he dances back out of range, but Shiro ignores it. He uses his agility and the terrain to his advantage: when Sendak harries him back against the wall, he runs up and flips over and lands in the dirt several feet away. The move draws gasps and some scattered applause from the spectators. Kinkade wasn't lying about the value of being entertaining.

But avoidance will only get him so far. Sooner or later, he needs to get close enough to Sendak to strike a blow. He watches and waits, getting a feel for Sendak's moves, and trying to gauge the best time to move into range.

He finds his opening when Sendak's frustration gets the better of him. Shiro ducks back beside a broken chariot, abandoned in the ring after the races, out of range of Sendak's blows. The Galra stops, chest heaving, and holds out the war hammer.

"Why do you run and hide like a coward?" he taunts. "Stand your ground and face me!"

Shiro doesn't let him finish. He runs up the side of the chariot, kicks off, twists in the air, and brings his prosthetic down on the haft of Sendak's axe. The wood splinters under the blow, and Sendak yells in surprise and fury as the axe head drops to the dirt. Shiro lands, kicks out at Sendak's stomach with all his strength, and rolls away again. He comes to his feet and finds his back against a pillar.

Sendak comes after him, and his one eye burns with fury. This time, Shiro doesn't manage to duck. Sendak lashes out with the prosthetic, and the metal claw closes around Shiro's face. Quintessence ripples along the arm and leaps onto Shiro's helmet, and he cries out as the visor heats up and presses into the bridge of his nose. It burns into his skin, and Sendak's grip makes it hard to breathe. The Galra discards the axe haft and pulls out a knife from his belt.

Shiro scrabbles desperately at Sendak's arm with his left hand. There will be no rescue, this time. Allura isn't running down the hill with a bow and arrow to save him. But she's still waiting for him, somewhere out in the world. And he promised himself he wouldn't die while she still needs him.

He pours quintessence into his prosthetic, letting it glow with light and heat, and as Sendak pauses - knife raised - to taunt him before the final blow, Shiro punches him in the centre of the chest as hard as he can. The arm dents the metal of Sendak's armour, and a burst of ugly purple magic explodes out from Shiro's fist. Sendak yells and staggers away, and Shiro follows him, heedless of the pain in his face and the burn of alchemy in his right arm. He grabs his spear from the ground and leaps for Sendak's shoulder, just as the Galra takes an unsteady step backwards. Sendak topples over, and Shiro drives his spear through the gap in Sendak's armour, where the plates of the upper arm attach to the chest panel. Gravity and momentum and sheer rage lend him the strength to push the spear's head all the way into Sendak's shoulder joint, and as he bears the commander to the ground he strikes up with the heel of his right hand. The remaining power in the metal limb knocks Sendak's helmet off, and he goes sprawling onto the dirt, dazed and groaning, and Shiro kneels on his chest and closes his glowing hand around Sendak's neck.

Awareness of the wider world comes back to him gradually, a piece at a time. The murmur of the crowd filters through to him, over the sound of his own laboured breathing. Distant cheers - presumably from the Altean contingent. His face burns, and his shoulder and stump aches, and as the adrenaline subsides the poisonous feel of the prosthetic creeps over him. He looks up to see stunned faces in the stands, and the herald gaping at him.

He _beat_ Sendak. He didn't just survive the fight. He _won_.

And he has no idea what to do next.

The herald blows the trumpet to signal the end of the bout, but Shiro stays put, his hand grasped around Sendak's neck. Not tight enough to choke him, but enough pressure that Sendak can't move easily. Sendak blinks up at him, and the confusion in his eye turns to rage as he realises the full implication of their positions.

In the royal box, King Zarkon rises to his feet, and Shiro watches him step to the edge of the balcony and look down at his Champion, laid out on the dirt. If Zarkon is displeased with Sendak's performance, Shiro will have to kill him where he lies.

The whole arena seems to hold its breath. Zarkon fixes Shiro with a look of utter fury, but he says nothing. He holds out a hand, and raises his thumb to the sky. Sendak lives to fight another day.

The crowd erupts into cheers, but there's a wary edge to the sound, as if no one knows quite what to make of what just happened. The stewards announce Shiro as the winner, and it occurs to him that he should stand up and let Sendak breathe. He gets to his feet and turns to the spectators. It feels wrong to acknowledge their applause - they are only cheering because the fight was entertaining, nothing more. Instead, Shiro turns to the Alteans, watching from high in the stands. Their joy is genuine, at least. They expected him to die, and now here he is - not only alive, but victorious.

Shiro stares up at them. He can't think of any words to say. He simply makes a fist with his right hand, and strikes the left side of his chest, over his still-beating heart: boom- _boom_. Boom- _boom_. _I'm alive. I'm alive_. The Alteans rise to their feet, and match him beat for beat - thump- _thump_ , thump- _thump_ \- and Shiro stands in the centre of the ring with the sound of it rising around him, like a salute. A defiant heartbeat, turned into a war cry.

He's still alive. He walked with death, and didn't falter. When he turns and walks out of the ring, the salute echoes after him, over and over - boom- _boom_ , boom- _boom_ \- a reminder that he survived.

He glances up at the stands. Behind the ranks of Alteans staring proudly down at him, he glimpses the ghostly form of a huge black lion with golden eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ages ago i made a meta about how Shiro is able to face death without fear. i've always liked that characterisation of him, and it came across really strongly in the first couple of seasons of canon. so i kept it for this. ya boi is determined to survive.
> 
> what do we say to the god of death? _not today_.


	19. a thorn among the roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some repercussions and discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S ME YA GAL BERRY WITH ANOTHER 2.30am UPDATE LIKE A PRO! whew this chapter gave me all sorts of problems but it's done! here! take it!! <3 <3

Shiro makes it out of the ring and into the tunnel before his legs give out from under him and he staggers to the nearest bench. Figures appear around him - somehow, from somewhere - and helping hands guide him to the seat and help him remove his helmet. His whole face burns, and he holds up shaky fingers and finds a fresh welt across the bridge of his nose, from where the visor dug into his skin. That's gonna leave a scar for sure.

He runs through the battle again in his mind, blow by blow, and as the shock subsides certain details of the memories spring to the fore.

He threatened to kill King Zarkon. _Really_. Forget _walking_ with death - he's practically riding on death's shoulders at this point.

Someone pushes a flask into his hand. Shiro takes a mouthful, realises that the contents are something alcoholic, and takes a second, much larger mouthful. The clamour around him gradually resolves into individual voices, and he looks up to see Tavo and Kinkade grinning down at him.

"That was amazing!" Kinkade says. "When you flipped over him? Incredible! Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"No clue," Shiro mutters. He glances around, and realises that the other gladiators have all rushed into the tunnel to greet him. The overseers try to shove them back into the room where they were waiting for their fights, but their excitement over Shiro's victory makes them unruly.

"Gladiators! To order!" Plytox's voice rings out above the noise, and the fighters quiet down and back off. But they keep a protective formation around Shiro, so that he sits in the middle of a ring of Altean prisoners, who all stand and watch Plytox warily as he approaches the bench.

"Where is he?" Plytox mutters. He shoves through the crowd, and pulls Shiro to his feet. An assistant appears and removes the prosthetic, and Shiro winces as the arm comes loose. But at least the horrible magic recedes, and his head clears a little. He looks up at Plytox, and braces for whatever scolding or punishment is to come. But Plytox claps him on the shoulder, and breaks out into a huge grin.

"Never thought I'd see anyone beat that bastard Sendak," he declares. "A good fight, Shirogane!"

This, on top of everything else, is too much for Shiro to take in. He blinks owlishly at Plytox, and tries to comprehend this sudden shift in mood and favour. Plytox shakes Shiro by the shoulders, and then leans down to speak close to his ear.

"If you ever threaten the Emperor again, you'll die in your sleep, gladiator," he warns.

_Ah_. That's more like it.

Plytox straightens up, shakes Shiro one last time for good measure, and then lets him go.

"Back to the barracks!" he orders. "You did me proud out there today! Well done!"

He holds up a hand and signals the guards, and the gladiators line up in rows and leave the sound and heat of the arena behind them.

 

 Plytox's good mood continues for the rest of the day, and as a result the gladiators are given an extended dinner time. The usual bland, weak stew is replaced with actual meat and rice and fresh bread, as a reward for the fighters who did well in the ring. Plytox struts around the dining hall giving a self-important speech about how great the fights were, before he grows bored of his own posturing and leaves them to it.

Shiro finds himself the centre of cautious and guarded attention, as he sits with his friends and eats his first proper meal in weeks. The other prisoners grin at him, or find excuses to walk by his table so they can pat him on the shoulder or murmur words of praise and admiration about his victory.

"No one's ever beaten Sendak," Kinkade tells him, by way of explanation. "Not even close."

"That's fair enough," Shiro says. "But these guys are acting like no one's ever won _any_ fight before."

The pair of them go silent, and look down at their food. Shiro looks between them.

"What?" he asks.

Tavo clears his throat. "You're the first person who's won a serious fight against one of the Galra gladiators."

Shiro blinks. The food suddenly tastes like dust in his mouth. "No one's _ever_ won?"

"The sparring bouts, sometimes," Kinkade explains. "But the big serious fights at the end? Never. People get to survive, if they have the right sponsor, or if Zarkon is feeling generous. But no one's ever actually _won_."

Shiro stares at him. He drops his fork.

"You couldn't have told me this before?" he demands. "You made it sound like it would be easy!"

"I didn't want to throw you off your game!" Kinkade protests. "No point scaring you before your first fight."

Shiro pushes his tray away, and covers his eyes with his hand. It's suddenly hard to breathe. The odds were always stacked against him - much more so than he realised when he strode out there to face Zarkon's Champion. And yet… he's still alive, in spite of all of it. Maybe the Goddess really is looking out for him.

"In Kinkade's defence," Tavo says, "we did say you would lose."

"I know," Shiro mutters. Kinkade pats him on the head.

"Cheer up, Captain," he says, without a hint of apology in his voice. "At least people will see you as Princess Allura's Champion, not Lotor's."

"Pretty sure that's going to come back to bite me in the ass," Shiro says, but Kinkade is not to be deterred. Shiro can't begrudge him his high spirits. By the looks of things, good days are hard to come by in the barracks. Shiro's victory gave everyone something to smile about, and it gave the spectators in the arena some hope to cling onto. That alone is worth whatever trouble it might cause Shiro personally.

 

His celebrity status persists the next day over breakfast; when he walks into the mess hall, the sound of eating and talking dies down and faces turn towards him. He gets a few cautious cheers, and a lot of proud grins. A few of the prisoners put their fists over their hearts, in imitation of the salute Shiro gave in the arena. With the guards lurking in the room's corners, no one dares make too much of a scene, but Shiro can feel the shift in the air: the changing of the mood from resignation and survival to hope and defiance. When he lines up to get his breakfast tray, the Altean soldier serving the food flashes him a broad grin, and drops an extra piece of bread onto his plate.

"For Princess Allura's champion," he murmurs with a wink, and a slow smile spreads over Shiro's face. _Princess Allura's Champion_. He could get used to the sound of that.

After breakfast, he jogs out onto the training yard with everyone else, but before he gets farther than the fence Plytox's hand lands on his shoulder and brings him to a halt.

"Not you, Shirogane," the Commander says. "You get the day off."

Shiro gapes at him, but the man is serious. He wonders if this is some ploy to single him out and thus drive a wedge of jealousy between him and the other prisoners. If so, it's not working; a few defiant whoops and cheers go up from the training yard, and even as the prisoners are herded into their circuits they make time to throw Shiro salutes or grin in his direction. He should ask Kinkade and Tavo later how many prisoners have faced Sendak and lost. Judging by the enthusiasm for his victory, it's probably a lot.

"Have a seat." Plytox steers Shiro away from the yard and points at a bench on the terrace overlooking the training ground. He nods at a couple of sentries, who position themselves either side of Shiro as he perches on the edge of the seat, unsure of what to do next.

"There's been a request for your presence," Plytox explains. "Someone will be along shortly to take you up to the keep."

Plytox strides away across the yard, leaving Shiro to sit and stew on who might have 'requested' him, and for what purpose. More of Haggar's experiments? More torture? He bounces his feet on the ground and chews his knuckles, and waits.

A few minutes later, General Acxa strides up the steps of the terrace with four elite guards in tow. She stops and looks down at Shiro where he sits on the bench.

"Come on, soldier boy," she says. "It's visiting hours."

"Who am I visiting now?" Shiro stands up and follows her as she marches off the terrace and out of the barracks. The sentries ring him in, as they usually do when they take him anywhere. He tries to figure out where he might be headed. It can't be Haggar, because he doesn't have the prosthetic on him; and since he got here, Lotor has never paid him any attention.

"You'll see," Acxa says shortly. "Get a move on, soldier boy."

"I have a name, you know," Shiro says.

Acxa spares him a sideways glance. "Get a move on, _Shiro_."

Shiro watches her back as they make their way through the Castle complex, the guards ever watchful of his every move. Acxa presents an interesting conundrum. She seems to be fiercely loyal to Lotor, but the precise whys and wherefores of that loyalty remain a mystery. It's not blind devotion; Acxa's too smart for that. Too pin-sharp and observant. She'd be a good person to befriend, if Shiro could get more than a dozen words out of her at a time.

Acxa remains characteristically silent as they cross the courtyards and enter into an old residential wing of the Castle. Like much of the rest of the complex, the doors are barricaded shut and the windows on the ground floor are boarded over; Galra sentries stand watch around the building, and Acxa speaks a few words to them before they are allowed inside. She leads the way into an entrance hall and up a wide flight of stairs, and thence along a heavily-guarded corridor towards a set of double doors. Two sentries stand watch, and they nod to Acxa as she approaches. They are expected, it seems.

Acxa stops, and turns to face Shiro.

"You have one quarter of an hour," she says.

"For what?" Shiro asks. This can't possibly be Lotor's quarters - if anything, it looks like another prison.

"This audience was difficult to arrange," Acxa says. "Be grateful for what time you have."

The guards open the door, and Acxa gestures Shiro inside. He steps into the room, heart hammering, and the door shuts behind him.

He's in what looks to be a living suite, drab but functional: old furniture, windows with the shutters nailed closed, faded rugs on the floor. As he enters, an older woman rises from one of the sofas. She has dark skin, and her black hair is woven into slender braids and strung with gold beads. She stands with an easy, regal grace, and her eyes are heavy with sadness, and the marks on her cheeks are a familiar shade of pink.

And Shiro knows her. His heart stops - as if he is seeing a ghost, or an apparition from the past. Because it can't be. She can't possibly be alive. She died with the rest of the family, surely.

"Princess Romelle," Shiro breathes. "I… you're…"

Words fail him. Princess Romelle smiles at him, the expression tight and laced with sorrow. He cannot imagine she has much to smile about. King Alfor was her brother; Allura's cousins were her nieces and nephews. She lost everything in the attack, just like Allura did.

"It's good to see you, Captain Shiro," she says.

The use of his old title shakes him out of his shock, and he steps forward and goes to bow. But Romelle throws her arms around his neck instead and hugs him tight.

"Thank the Goddess you're alive," she whispers.

"So are you," Shiro says, as she releases him. "I thought… is Lady Esma alive?"

Romelle turns towards the doorway that leads into the sleeping quarters. Her wife, Esma, stands by the door: a short, pretty woman with tan skin and dark curly hair. She crosses the room and embraces Shiro briefly.

"It's good to see you, Shiro," she says.

Shiro stares between the two of them - alive, against all odds. He can't understand how it happened.

"How did you survive the attack?" he asks.

"I will tell you," Romelle says. "But we don't have much time. And I must ask you something first." Her hands twist together, and Esma places a comforting hand on her back.

"I know you cannot answer me fully," Romelle goes on. "I know it's not safe for me to know the details, or where she is exactly, or how… but… I must ask…"

She doesn't need to finish the question. There's only one thing she could possibly be asking; only one thing that matters to her, with the rest of her family passed away.

"Allura's alive," Shiro says gently. "She's safe. I promise."

Romelle bursts into tears, and Esma helps her sit down on the sofa. Shiro takes the seat opposite her. Romelle covers her face with her hands and sobs, and Esma rubs her back.

"Zarkon has been saying awful things about Allura," Esma says to Shiro. "That she perished in the wilds, or she'll never make it out of Altea… all sorts of things."

"He's wrong," Shiro says. "She's safe. She's not in Altea anymore. I made sure of that."

Romelle looks up at him through her tears. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough. We feared the worst, all these weeks… as long as she's alive and well, that is all that matters."

"She is. I promise."

Romelle wipes her face, and her eyes catch on the stump of Shiro's right arm.

"And how much did you sacrifice to make sure of that?" she asks softly.

Shiro reaches for his stump instinctively, and looks down at the table. He sacrificed more than he can let on to Romelle and Esma. Both of them were always kind to him, and Romelle was friendly with him whenever he wasn't busy with his duties, and he knows neither of them would disapprove of his relationship with Allura - all three days of it. But it's dangerous to speak of it here, with Galra soldiers everywhere, and Haggar's strange witchcraft that lets her root around in people's heads. It is safer for Romelle and Esma if they know as little as possible about Allura's location and plans - or the intimacy Shiro shared with her. If he's to survive his time in the arena, everyone must think that he was simply Allura's loyal guard and nothing more.

"How did you survive the attack?" he asks, by way of changing the subject. "We thought everyone had died."

"We weren't in the Castle when the attack happened," Esma says simply.

Romelle straightens up, and takes her wife's hand.

"Esma wanted to go dancing," she says fondly. "There's a place in the city where the musicians play until late in the night. We used to go there for dancing; we have friends there."

"You mean _The Thief's Moon_?" Shiro asks.

Romelle nods. "We took Lieutenant Tadashi with us. We didn't think we needed much protection. It's just a music hall in town, what would we need guards for? So when Zarkon's attack happened, the first we heard of it was the commotion in the streets. We ran out and saw the Castle on fire, and we knew that something was wrong."

Esma squeezes Romelle's hand, and watches her as she tells the story. Shiro's heart aches for both of them. That night must have been awful.

"We wanted to run back to the Castle," Romelle goes on. "But the Lieutenant stopped us. He said we should run for the gate, and try to flee the city. He must have suspected some kind of serious attack, and tried to get us away to safety."

"Did he… did he make it?" Shiro dreads the answer, but he asks the question anyway. Tadashi was one of his men. He assigned him to Romelle as a semi-official personal guard, and he used to accompany Romelle and Esma a lot on their various jaunts.

Romelle hangs her head. "He died trying to protect us," she says.

Shiro sighs, and runs his hand over his face. He shakes his head. Another friend, dead and gone; another life lost. Tadashi was a good guard, too: smart, perceptive, kind… a good person, who deserved a better end.

"The Galra guards caught up to us before we reached the gate," Esma explains. "Tadashi tried to hold them off so we could escape, but we were captured anyway."

"The delay probably saved our lives," Romelle says. "By the time we were brought back to the Castle, news of Allura's escape had spread. With Allura gone, we were kept alive as leverage."

Shiro frowns and stares at his feet. He can imagine exactly why Romelle and Esma were kept alive - he can piece it together from what Allura told him about Zarkon's plans for Altea. They needed Allura to secure the throne and the line of succession; without her, their conquest is more fragile and vulnerable to being overthrown. Had Allura been captured in the attack - as Lotor planned - no doubt her aunts would have been brought back to the Castle and executed, along with her other relatives. But Allura escaped, and Princess Romelle and her wife became valuable hostages.

"Do you know King Zarkon's plans for you?" Shiro asks.

"I suspect we are bargaining chips," Romelle says with a shrug. "If Zarkon discovers where Allura is hiding, he will offer to trade her freedom for ours. I fear that Allura would accept it, and trade her life for ours."

Shiro nods. She might, if it came to it; if she felt she had no other choice. But more than that: if Zarkon gets his hands on Allura, Romelle and Esma will be powerful incentives to ensure Allura's compliance with whatever the conquerors have planned. A threat to Romelle's life could be used to coerce Allura into the marriage with Lotor that is so key to securing Altea for the Galra Empire. The thought turns Shiro's blood to ice. No wonder Zarkon left Romelle alive.

"Are you well, otherwise?" Shiro asks. "Were you hurt? Are they mistreating you?"

"Well, we can't leave these chambers," Romelle says. "We've been kept under guard day and night. But apart from that, we haven't been treated badly at all."

"They didn't interrogate you?" Shiro asks.

"Haggar asked us a few questions," Esma says. "But she mostly wanted to know where Allura had run off to, and of course we couldn't tell her anything."

"Prince Lotor intervened to make sure we weren't questioned," Romelle adds. "He arranged this accommodation for us, as well. When I heard you were captured, I asked for a meeting with you, too. And Prince Lotor managed to arrange it."

Shiro scowls, and scuffs at the rug with his boot. Prince Lotor has a hand in a lot of things, it seems.

"Do you trust him?" Shiro asks. "Prince Lotor, I mean."

"I wouldn't say that," Romelle says. "I'm sure he has an agenda of his own. But he's been good to us. And a snake is less dangerous than a lion, as they say."

"No, it's not," Shiro mutters. "It's just dangerous in a different way."

"Maybe so. But what choice do we have?"

Shiro rubs his face. His head is starting to hurt again, and he can't figure out the various levels of loyalty and deceit and scheming going on in the Galra royal family. But he doesn't trust Lotor, no matter how superficially kind or considerate he might be.

"None, I suppose," Shiro says. "But I worry about Lotor's motives. Whatever he's done for you, I doubt it's purely out of the goodness of his heart."

Romelle nods. "What about you?" she asks. "We heard from one of the maids that you were in the arena. And your fight with Sendak has been the talk of the Castle."

Shiro grimaces. "I'll survive."

"They're calling you Princess Allura's Champion," Esma says. "It's all very dramatic."

"That wasn't exactly my idea," Shiro says. "But it's important that people know she's coming back. Otherwise everyone will give up hope."

"Allura won't give up on us," Romelle says. "I've known her since she was a child. She can be powerfully stubborn when she needs to be."

Shiro smiles, in spite of the circumstances. He leans his elbow on his knee and looks down at his hand, and remembers all the times Allura tugged on his fingers to talk him into doing something. She can be stubborn and strong and resourceful and brave; all that, and sweet and kind and funny too. He curls his hand into a fist, and looks up to find Romelle staring at him with one eyebrow raised.

"She was always rather fond of you, you know," Romelle says.

"Yeah, she told me." The words escape him, along with a grin at the recollection of it. Romelle's eyebrows almost rise clean off her head, and a hint of genuine amusement and warmth sparks in her eyes. Shiro coughs, and tries to hide the blush that bursts into his cheeks.

"I mean… she said she wished we could be friends," he says.

Romelle doesn't seem convinced. She glances over at Esma, and they share a rather knowing look.

"I'm glad she had you," Romelle says. "I'm glad she wasn't alone."

"Can you tell me anything about what's going on in the Castle?" Shiro asks, in an attempt to get away from this line of personal questioning.

Romelle shakes her head. "We hear very little. We talk with the servants occasionally, but the guards are always watching. We thought about trying to escape, but we have no one to help us, and the keep is well guarded… I'm afraid we haven't been able to do much but wait it out and try to stay alive. For Allura's sake."

Shiro nods his understanding. They are the only family Allura has left, now; he can only imagine how desperate they are to see their niece alive and well once again. "That's alright. As long as you're safe for now, that's all that matters."

"What will become of us?" Esma asks.

Shiro meets her gaze, and reads the concern and fear in her eyes. She holds on to Romelle's hand and leans into her. For all the horror of their imprisonment, and the pain of their loss, at least they have each other. He wouldn't wish this situation on anyone, and yet… there are so many times when he just wants to hold Allura's hand and hear her voice and know that he is loved. His chest hurts just thinking about it, but he can't let himself get distracted by those thoughts.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "But I will protect you any way I can. You have my word."

He wonders if there's a way to orchestrate their escape from the Castle. From what he knows of Princess Romelle, she'd be more than willing to climb out of a window and run to safety across the rooftops if need be. Would they be safer away from the Castle, where neither Zarkon nor Lotor could use them as hostages or bait? Or would it put them in even more danger? On the run, in hiding, nowhere to go, a target on their backs… It's something he needs to think carefully about.

The door creaks open, and Shiro tenses up, but it is just Acxa. She looks between the three of them.

"Time's up," she says shortly.

Shiro rises to his feet, and Romelle stands and clasps his hand one last time.

"Be safe, Shiro," she says.

"I'll try," he replies.

Acxa narrows her eyes at him, and he turns to leave before he gets Romelle and Esma into any trouble. He snatches one last backward glance over his shoulder as he reaches the door, and sees the pair of them standing there, holding onto each other. He tells himself that they're alive, and that's the most important thing - but to be imprisoned here, like this - helpless and frustrated, unable to do anything - it must be its own kind of torture. He gives them as much of a smile as he can muster, and follows Acxa out of the door.

The General marches away down the corridor, as taciturn and inscrutable as always, and Shiro trails after her, flanked by the sentries. They descend the stairs and head out of the door into the courtyard, but rather than taking him back to the barracks, Acxa leads the guards in the opposite direction - towards a part of the Castle that served as the royal living quarters.

Shiro speeds up to outpace the sentries, and comes up behind Acxa as she strides down a set of steps and across another courtyard.

"So where are we going now?" he asks.

"You'll see," Acxa says, without looking at him.

Shiro scowls at her. During his imprisonment, she has thus far resisted his efforts to get her to talk to him. He tries again.

"What's the purpose of this exercise, anyway?" he asks. "I get visiting hours now? Or does Lotor just enjoy parading me around like a trophy?"

Acxa stops, and turns to look at him, her expression as guarded as ever. She rests her hand on her sword hilt and looks him up and down.

"You should know your place, soldier boy," she says.

"And where is that, exactly?" Shiro asks. "As Haggar's experiment? Or Lotor's toy?"

"Perhaps it's Princess Allura's Champion?" Acxa counters. "A bold move for a lowly guard."

"I didn't pick the name."

"But you'll gladly accept it, I assume."

Shiro meets her gaze, and side-steps the question with another one.

"What does Lotor want with me?"

"You'll have to ask him that yourself." And with that she turns and strides off again, and Shiro is left cursing and hurrying along in her wake.

They pass through a section of the Castle that Shiro knows well from his guard days, and the Galra sentries crowd around him and take hold of his shoulders as they cross one of the halls and head to another corridor that leads outside. Acxa leads them out of a back door and down a flight of stone steps to another familiar setting: the rose garden. It occupies a square space between the wings of the palace and a cloistered walkway that connects to another set of buildings. A fountain sparkles lazily in the centre of a perfectly manicured lawn, and roses in pink and red and white flower on the trellises and fill the air with their scent. Shiro follows Acxa down a winding path between rosebushes, until they round a corner and come out onto the Ivy Terrace and the wrought iron gazebo that stands there.

Shiro stops in his tracks. Seated under the gazebo is Prince Lotor himself.

"Your Champion, my lord," Acxa says. She gestures at Shiro, who forces himself to stop gaping and shut his mouth.

Lotor sits at a table, which is laid with fruits, pastries, and other pleasant refreshments. A glance around the garden reveals several guards lurking behind the trees and trellises, and Shiro's sentries fan out and surround the terrace. Another of Lotor's Generals - Ezor - stands behind Lotor's chair.

So Lotor summoned him for a personal visit. But he took precautions. The setting is pleasant enough, but everything is very _carefully_ casual. Shiro frowns, despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral expression. The rose garden was one of Allura's favourite places to sit on a sunny day. He stood on this terrace with the royal family on plenty of warm summer afternoons, idly scanning the roofs and pretending not to notice how pretty Allura looked in her broad-brimmed sunhat and her flowing white dress. And now Lotor's sitting here eating biscuits as if he owns the place. The sight of him fills Shiro with a fierce and irrational anger, but he swallows it down and forces himself to stay calm. Lotor is the person keeping him alive right now. He needs to be smart about this.

"Ah, Captain Shiro," Lotor says. "Thank you so much for joining me."

"I didn't exactly have a choice," Shiro says. He steps under the gazebo, into the relative shade offered by the ivy that clings to the iron bars.

"Of course," Lotor says. "I apologise that we must meet under such… unfortunate circumstances."

Shiro raises an eyebrow. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"I am somewhat constrained by our current situation," Lotor says airily. "But I hope you know that I always held you in high regard, during your time in service of the royal family."

Shiro stares at him. This is a game, clearly, and it's one that Lotor thinks he can win simply by changing the rules. Everything about this situation seems calculated to throw Shiro off-balance: the sudden cheerful camaraderie, the apologies, the table set up for a pleasant lunch in the rose garden. Lotor is trying to present himself as a friendly face; as a trustworthy equal coming to Shiro's aid. But Shiro has not forgotten the look of terror on Allura's face when she described Lotor's role in the invasion. And he's not obligated to go along with whatever story Lotor is trying to feed him.

"Do you think we're friends?" he asks bluntly. "Because we're not. I'm your prisoner. You threw me in the gladiator ring to fight Sendak."

"Not my choice of bout, I assure you," Lotor says. "As Prince of the Galra Empire I must keep up certain appearances, no matter how distasteful."

He gestures to the chair opposite him. "Won't you sit down, Captain? Please. Let us have a civil discussion."

Shiro glances from the offered-up chair to Lotor's face, and his open and friendly expression, and he weighs his options. He could leap across the table, grab a butter knife, and plunge it into Lotor's throat - and the thought is so tempting that Shiro's fingers itch. It would instantly remove one of Allura's most horrifying problems. But… it would create new ones. The sentries would kill him on the spot, for a start. And he promised himself he'd stay alive for as long as Allura needs him.

General Ezor moves around the table, and pulls out the chair. Shiro sighs, and sits down. At least he'll get to sit in the sunshine for a bit - even if he has to put up with Lotor as part of the bargain. It just about beats being stuck in a cell, but not by much.

"Wonderful," Lotor says. "Will you join me in some tea? Help yourself to lunch. I'm sorry the prison food leaves a lot to be desired."

A servant steps up and pours the tea into small glass cups, and Shiro sits and watches Lotor take a sip. He leaves his own drink untouched, and Lotor catches his reluctance. He leans across the table and pointedly switches their cups, before flashing him a warm smile.

"You don't trust me?" he asks.

"Am I supposed to?" Shiro counters.

"It would be helpful if you did."

"What do you want?"

Lotor sighs, and sits back in his chair. He taps the tea cup with his finger as he watches Shiro, and Shiro sits and waits.

"I need your help," Lotor says eventually.

Shiro frowns at him. Lotor seems hellbent on acting like they are long-lost companions, reunited by fate, discussing the future of Altea like two comrades and equals. If he's not careful, Lotor will make him lose sight of the fact that he is very much the man's prisoner and not his best friend.

"I'm not really in a position to help anyone," Shiro says.

"On the contrary," Lotor replies. "You are in a position to change the fate of Altea."

Shiro blinks at him, nonplussed. This is all building up to another round of questioning about where Allura went when she fled Naxum, and he wishes Lotor would just get to the point. All the smooth talking and attempts at convivial charm set Shiro's nerves on edge. The friendly tone and pleasant atmosphere makes it hard to remember what Lotor truly is. It blurs the truth. Shiro catches himself wondering if Lotor is that bad, after all; if he wouldn't be a better option than Zarkon, if it came to picking a ruler for Altea. He bunches his hand into a fist and says nothing.

Lotor gestures towards the cloisters, and a robed figure emerges from the shade, carrying a wooden crate in her hands. At first, Shiro thinks it's Queen Haggar, and his entire body tenses instinctively. But the figure is someone else - a young woman with empty eye sockets, hidden beneath the shadow of her hood. She wears a long grey dress, and silver pendants hang around her neck. A black cat follows her up the steps, and as she places the wooden chest on the table, the cat leaps up into a chair and sits there purring and watching proceedings.

The woman flips the chest open, and Lotor reaches in and selects a round, golden disc from the several that are stacked in the chest's interior. He flips open the cover to reveal what looks like a mirror. But it shimmers in a way glass shouldn't shimmer, and the surface is clouded and blurred.

"Do you know what this is?" Lotor asks.

Shiro shakes his head. The mirror has an ornate frame carved into the configuration of an alchemy circle, but it's meaningless to Shiro. Allura would probably know its function just by looking at it, but she's not here.

"This is a Sufrid Glass," Lotor says, his tone light and conversational. "Altea has dozens of them. They are each paired with another mirror - identical in design - that is located hundreds of miles away. They serve as communication devices. The Blessed can activate them, if they're powerful enough. Altean royals used them for centuries to communicate with their allies in other countries."

Shiro has heard of them, although the name 'Sufrid Glass' doesn't immediately ring any bells. But King Alfor used them occasionally. They were housed in a large room in the Castle, under lock and key. And now Lotor is carrying them around in a chest.

"Is that why I'm here?" Shiro asks. "So you can give me an alchemy lesson?"

"You're here because you know exactly where Princess Allura is hiding," Lotor says. "And I need you to send her a message."

Shiro bites his tongue and keeps his expression carefully blank, but anxiety blossoms inside him like thorns. _You know where Princess Allura is hiding_. Lotor states it like a fact, and the confidence in his tone suggests that he won't be easily dissuaded by any denial or excuse on Shiro's part. Lotor might have feigned ignorance in front of Queen Haggar, but he was _there_ in Naxum. How much does he know? How much did he piece together?

Lotor gestures at the wooden chest, and the array of golden discs nestled inside.

"I suspect that Allura fled to one of Altea's allies," he says. "And with these Glasses, I have the means to contact whichever embassy is offering her safe haven. Tell me where she is. Narti here is a powerful witch; I will ask her to active the mirror, and you can speak with the Princess yourself. Tell her you're alive. Ask her to come home."

Shiro forces himself to meet Lotor's gaze and not stare hungrily at the box of mirrors. One of those devices connects to the embassy in Olkarian. Allura is probably there, right now. If he got his hands on the right Glass, he could speak to her. See her face. Hear her voice. A heavy ache settles on his heart, dragging him down, wrapping his soul in bands of iron. Because he wants to reach out to her so desperately that tears threaten to blur his vision… but he can't. Not like this. He smothers all the pain and heartbreak and locks it away, deep down inside, and when he speaks to Lotor his voice is calm and steady.

"You have it all wrong," he says. "I don't know where she is. And even if I did - she wouldn't come back just because I asked her to. We weren't that close."

"Oh, come now, Shiro," Lotor says. "We both know that's not true."

Shiro holds his gaze, but that seed of anxiety spikes through him once more. He can well believe that Lotor lied in front of his own mother, and knows more about Shiro's relationship with Allura than he let on during the interrogation. The Prince is cunning and clever, and whatever he's scheming, he's doing it behind his parents' backs. And that makes him even more dangerous.

"I spoke with our mutual acquaintance in Naxum," Lotor goes on. "Hedra the innkeeper? She had some interesting things to say about you and the Princess when you stayed at _The Jasmine Flower_. Apparently you were the talk of the establishment. Sharing a room? Moonlight dances? All very intimate and romantic."

"We were in disguise," Shiro says. "The Princess used to make me pretend to be her husband to avert suspicion. That's all."

"And just how thorough was the performance?" Lotor asks. "Did it extend to a farewell kiss on the docks?"

Shiro curses internally, in the privacy of his own head, and clenches his fist under the cover of the table. He doesn't know how to handle this. The politics, the scheming - this was Allura's domain. She knew how to manage people. She knew how to spot the lies and manipulation and deceit; how to weave the truth into a story that people wanted to hear, how to deflect or dissemble, or steer a conversation where she wanted it to go. She was a master at it, but this is not something Shiro has ever had to contend with, and he's floundering without her.

Lotor already knows the truth - or suspects enough of it to put the rest of the pieces together and come to the obvious conclusion. There's no way Shiro can dissuade him from the belief that he and Allura were together in Naxum, and that she meant more to him than he can ever admit. That belief at least explains why Lotor kept Shiro alive: it is for the same reason that Romelle and Esma were spared. If Lotor believes that Allura cares about him, he'll keep Shiro alive as long as he thinks he's useful.

But that doesn't mean Shiro has to confirm his suspicions. He's not about to hand Lotor that kind of power over him. Lotor will eventually lose patience with the obstinate denials, and find some inventive way to punish Shiro, but that doesn't matter. Let Lotor stew in his uncertainty and frustration. Let the seed of doubt remain.

Besides, it's oddly satisfying to tell Lotor blatant lies to his face. The Prince is trying to get Shiro off-balance. If Shiro can unbalance him right back, so much the better.

"I don't know how else to tell you," he says, as evenly as he can manage. "I don't know where the Princess is. I don't know what her plans are. She doesn't care about me like that."

Lotor's eyes scan his face, and he drums his fingers on the table as if contemplating some deep moral dilemma. The breeze blows the scent of roses through the garden, and stirs the vines on the gazebo, making the sunlight dapple and dance on the table top. The lunch looks delicious, but Shiro isn't going to give Lotor the satisfaction of seeing him eat it.

"May I speak frankly?" Lotor says.

"You can do whatever you want," Shiro says.

"My father is an unsubtle tyrant." Lotor states it matter-of-factly, like an observation of the weather. "He concealed this fact from the Alteans, but in the Empire his love of violent spectacle is well known. All of this--" he waves a hand to indicate the state of the Castle at large, "--this is all my father's vision. It is how he chooses to lead. Through force and threats and fear."

"And you don't approve?" Shiro asks.

"I would prefer to rule differently. Through co-operation and compromise. There's no need for this unpleasantness. I believe it's possible to lead people with trust, and earn their respect simply by being reasonable."

"That's very admirable of you," Shiro says, but privately he doesn't believe a word of it. He can still recall the terrified faces of the people of the Northern Wilds, when Lotor rode into Garrin and declared himself their new ruler. Lotor is putting his own gilt on the situation, and it's almost fascinating to watch him retell the story in a way that casts himself as the humble Prince, valiantly struggling against his father's tyranny. But it's not true. None of it is true. Shiro has to remember that. He won't let Lotor reshape his perception of reality with a few deft words.

"One day, I will inherit the throne of the Galra Empire," Lotor continues. "And I will have the chance to change how the Empire operates. But for the time being, I must exercise patience and caution, and go along with my father's ideals. Of course… I had hoped to rule Altea according to my own designs. But unfortunately, my father is still here, and I'm denied that opportunity. Otherwise, I would be free rule Altea as I see fit."

"And how would that be, exactly?" Shiro asks. Not because he really cares, but because he wants to hear what lies Lotor will spin for him next.

"Fairly. With kindness and respect," Lotor says smoothly. "With Allura as my Queen, we could bring peace to the kingdom. There would be no need for soldiers stationed in every town. I would be prepared to release the Blessed; even allow some Rituals to take place. This cruelty that you see around you - all of this could end."

It all sounds very tempting. And perhaps, on balance, Prince Lotor would be preferable to King Zarkon. But what Lotor is describing is still a conquest. It still robs Altea of freedom and autonomy. Colonization that wears a polite smile is still colonization.

"I don't see what this has to do with me," Shiro says. He can guess, but he wants to make Lotor spell it out.

Lotor sits back in his chair and gestures expansively at the Castle around them. "My father is still here because Princess Allura escaped during the regrettable violence that unfolded in the capitol. His plan was to hand the kingdom over to my control. With Allura as my bride, my claim to the Altean throne would be legitimised by marriage, but I would rule in the name of the Galra. A rather neat compromised, don't you think?

"But Allura escaped. Our position here is no longer secured. And so my father remains, throwing his weight around, trying to do with soldiers what should have been done with diplomacy."

Shiro says nothing, but his mind goes over and over Lotor's words. He knew some of this from Allura, of course, and so he knows that Lotor isn't lying when he talks of Zarkon's plans for Altea. Unless Zarkon intends to move the seat of his Empire to Oriande, he has no reason to stay here - except that the conquest is incomplete. Without Allura - without the throne and the succession secured - the Galra are simply colonizers, and their claim to the kingdom holds no weight except military might. Which would be enough for some of the neighbouring realms, but many of Altea's allies would never accept such an arrangement.

Would Olkar still fight to defend them if Allura married Lotor, and returned to Altea as his Queen? After all, she would not be a Princess in exile then. Shiro can see exactly why they are so keen to bring Allura back to Oriande, and to hold a wedding and coronation as quickly as possible, and establish a new royal line in Altea. The Galra Empire would not have to fight to keep control of the country if they had an Altean royal on the throne.

And that is exactly why Allura cannot return, or agree to Lotor's compromise. She knows it, too - Shiro's sure of that. She would never co-sign the Galra occupation, or lend it legitimacy by agreeing to rule alongside Lotor. The devastation it would cause Altea would be unthinkable.

"Help me contact Allura." Lotor gestures at the golden mirrors lying on the table. "Tell her it's safe to return, and that she can rule Altea alongside me, and that I can ensure her safety and comfort here in Oriande. Help me bring this violence to an end."

"I still can't help you," Shiro says. "Like I keep telling you: I don't know where the Princess went. I don't know where to find her."

Lotor leans forward on the table, and lowers his voice - as if they are friends sharing secrets. "I admire your commitment to her safety, Shiro. Your loyalty to her is admirable, but it is misplaced in this instance. I need your help to bring her home. Not just for her sake, but for the sake of Altea. Imagine. Allura back here, on the throne. An end to the violence. Just tell me where she is."

"I really don't know," Shiro says.

Lotor's eyes narrow, but Shiro holds firm. He won't let Lotor worm his way into his head. It's all lies. It's a trick. He's not going to cave and be Lotor's errand-boy; he's not going to send Allura a message telling her it's safe to return to Altea, when that is so clearly not the case.

"I'm not an unreasonable man," Lotor says. "My marriage to Allura would be purely for political convenience. You could serve as her personal guard. Keep seeing her. As long as it's discreet, I have no wish to interfere with affairs of the heart."

That is almost too much for Shiro to take in without comment. He knew Lotor even before the attack, and nothing he's ever seen of him suggests that he's the type of man who would let his wife carry on a romantic affair with her bodyguard. Discreetly or otherwise. Lotor thinks too much of himself; he's too full of his own self-importance to stand for it.

What he's offering is a fairytale. It's a fantasy in which Allura returns to Altea, and that magically sets everything right: the kingdom is freed from tyranny, with no lasting ill effects; Allura marries Lotor, but Shiro doesn't lose her in the process. On the contrary, he gets to stay by her side, and share her bed with the blessing of her husband. And somehow in all this no one else gets hurt and Lotor never gets jealous or possessive and Zarkon skips off back to the Galra Empire and never bothers Altea ever again.

It's unbelievable. It's too good to be true. And real life doesn't work like that. Lotor is not such a fool to seriously believe that what he's offering would work out. There's a catch in there somewhere.

"Really?" Shiro asks. "You'll marry her and never touch her. Just… leave her to do whatever she wants."

"Of course," Lotor breezes. "She would have complete freedom. She would need to provide me with an heir, naturally; but apart from that, there is no reason for us even to speak to each other, except in the course of our public duties."

Shiro's heart turns to lead. Of course Lotor expects an heir from his bride. The mere thought of it makes Shiro feel sick to his soul. It's not even jealousy, because he can accept that Allura might have to marry someone else someday - some royal from another land, or some noble deemed worthy of her hand. But she _hated_ Lotor. Whenever they spoke of him in the wilds, her face twisted up in terror. The thought of her having to give herself over to a man she so obviously hated and feared turns Shiro's stomach.

He promised her, once, that he would never let Lotor touch her. He held her hands in an abandoned barn and swore to protect her with his life, if need be. So if he has to dive across the table and kill Lotor, and be killed in turn by the guards - he'll do it. He'll face death rather than let Lotor get his hands on Allura.

It occurs to him that Lotor could force the issue, here. Even if he keeps refusing to contact Allura - or simply pleads ignorance to the whole affair - Lotor could send messages anyway. Drag Shiro in front of the mirror and show Allura what became of him; tell her about Romelle and Esma, and their imprisonment in the Castle. But that's not Lotor's play, and it's not the point. He's trying to present himself as reasonable and refined. His goal is to coerce Allura into coming back to Oriande willingly, without a fight. Lotor wants to manoeuvre her into a position where she feels she has no choice but to consent to being his bride, and his loyal Queen. A show of force doesn't serve Lotor's purposes. That's why he needs Shiro to make the offer on his behalf.

The machinations of it all make Shiro's head spin, but he has to hold firm. He won't lie to Allura on Lotor's behalf, or help him lure her into such an obvious trap. The thought of it is utterly abhorrent. And if that means giving up the chance of speaking to her, or seeing her face one last time, so be it. He lifts his chin and looks Lotor in the eye.

"See, that just doesn't sound like a tempting offer," he says. "Even if I knew where the Princess went, I wouldn't tell you. I won't help you trick her into coming back."

"It's not a trick," Lotor says. He makes a valiant effort to appear unperturbed, but Shiro catches the edge of annoyance in his voice. "It's a genuine offer, made from one politician to another. You're not a ruler, Shiro. You might not understand how these things work, but Princess Allura does. Don't you owe it to her to at least present her with the offer? To let her decide?"

"No. I don't." Because it's not an offer. It's blackmail. Shiro has to keep telling himself that. Lotor will do his best to make the whole thing sound reasonable, but beneath the veneer of political compromise there's an ugly undercurrent of manipulation and deceit.

"You could give Allura the news that her aunts survived the attack," Lotor continues - and that at least explains his ulterior motive for letting Shiro visit Esma and Romelle. It wasn't just a show of generosity. "I'm sure Allura would be overjoyed to hear that she has some family members still alive and well."

She would be. But she'd also be terrified for their safety. Shiro wills himself to keep a straight face and look at Lotor and not the box of mirrors, because if he so much as glances in the direction of the communication devices, Lotor will know he's tempted and press the advantage.

Because it _is_ tempting. His mind reels with possibilities for how he might contact Allura and somehow convey to her that Lotor is not to be trusted. Trick Lotor into letting him speak to Allura, and then tell her to stay away. Play him at his own game. But in order to do that, he'd have to first admit that he knows that Allura fled to Olkar - and that is not something he's prepared to impart to Lotor under any circumstances. It doesn't matter that Olkar is huge and powerful and quite possibly the safest place for Allura to be. The knowledge of her whereabouts still hands Lotor a huge advantage. It's still a betrayal.

Lotor taps the mirror in front of him, and runs a finger along its rim, over the carved alchemy symbols. The golden cover catches the sunlight, but the glass itself seems to sparkle under a different, uncanny light.

"This one connects to the embassy in Olkarian," Lotor says, and Shiro's stomach lurches. "Is that where she went? It seems the most likely. Would you like to speak to her? Should I ask Narti to activate it?"

He selects another Glass from the chest, and holds it up in front of his face to inspect the symbols.

"This one connects to the capitol of Azjaran," he goes on. "Perhaps not the most obvious choice, but the Princess could easily slip away into the Azjaran wilds. Was that her plan?"

Another gold disc comes out of the box.

"Or the Surmese Isles? Was that it? We can try all the mirrors, if you wish. Let's work out where she went together, shall we? I have all day. You can send a message to each embassy in turn and we'll see where we get a reply. I'm sure Allura will come running to your rescue as soon as she sees your face."

She might. That's the problem. She never did like the plan he came up with, and she was always coming back to save him in spite of his protests. Would this time be any different? Would she drop everything - all her strategies to liberate Altea - just to come riding back to his rescue? The thought of it terrifies him. He gave everything to make sure she got away to safety, and the idea of her rushing back into danger just to save him fills him with sick dread. Worse: the idea of her agreeing to a marriage with Lotor, just to get him out of prison. He could never live with himself if she did that.

She's too smart for that, surely. She'd never take up Lotor's offer - she loves Altea too much to betray the country like that, or agree to such an obviously false compromise.

But the offer itself represents an awful, impossible choice. In accepting, Allura would have to agree to a marriage with a man who disgusts her; in refusing, she must consciously choose to leave her aunts in prison in Oriande, and to leave Shiro himself in the gladiator pits, fighting for his life. Shiro knows her well enough to know that she would do the calculations, and decide that a marriage to Lotor did not serve Altea's interests in the long run, and that compromise with Altea's invaders would be the ultimate betrayal of her people. And then she would have to live with the guilt and heartache of knowing what she gave up, and who she sacrificed, in order to protect her country and her people.

He has no way of telling her that the sacrifice was worth it; that he made it willingly, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Lotor wants to guilt her into coming back, and he won't be a part of it. He swore to protect her - and that includes protecting her from Lotor's lies and manipulation.

"I don't see what good it would do you," Shiro says. "Even if you got lucky, and found out where she went, she doesn't listen to me. It's not like she'd come back just because I asked."

Lotor places the golden discs on the table, and sits back in his chair. He considers Shiro carefully, in the silence of the rose garden, with the birds chirping overhead and the fountain gently whispering in the sunlight.

"Was she just bored? Is that it?" Lotor asks. "It would explain your bitterness, I suppose. She took you to bed because you're a pleasant distraction, and then she still left you to die anyway. You were just used and discarded."

It takes all Shiro's willpower not to leap across the table and punch the smirk right off Lotor's face. Lotor's just saying it to wind him up; to get a reaction. But it stings, because that was always Shiro's fear: that Allura never cared about him, and that it all meant nothing to her. He knows that's not true. He remembers Allura's face when she looked at him, and the real and genuine joy in her eyes, and even though she never said she loved him, she said enough to imply it.

But Lotor doesn't know that, and judging by the triumphant glint in his eye, he thinks he's figured out some secret truth. And it occurs to Shiro that he shouldn't correct him on it. Let him believe that Shiro was just the idle plaything of a fickle Princess, trying to distract herself from the hardship of her travels. Maybe then he'll give up on this plan and leave Shiro out of it.

So he says nothing. He lets Lotor see the tightening of his jaw and the crease of his brow, and draw his own conclusions. And Lotor takes the bait. The hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and there's an unpleasant gleam in his eye. He thinks he's got it all figured out.

"Perhaps another incentive, then," Lotor says. "Help me contact Princess Allura, and I can arrange your release from the gladiator barracks. No more fights in the arena. No more experiments with my mother. Convey my offer to Allura, and you give me a reason to secure your release."

"Like I told you," Shiro says. "I can't help you."

Lotor's smile grows a little wider, and he sits back in his chair and sips his tea. He studies Shiro's face, and the silence is broken only by the murmur of the fountain and the rustle of the breeze through the garden.

"I understand," Lotor says eventually. "A man has his pride, after all. But the offer stands. Think it over. Perhaps when you've seen just how damaging my father's reign is to Altea, you'll reconsider."

Shiro adds this as a factor to his mental calculations. Clearly, Lotor is patient enough to wait this out and play the long game. For whatever reason, Lotor sees fit to keep him alive for now - but for how long and at what price remains to be seen. Despite Lotor's reassurances, Shiro is still not confident that he would spare his life if he lost a bout in the arena. Probably best not to risk it. Which means he has to keep winning so he can stay alive.

Lotor waves a hand at General Ezor, who steps forward and gestures Shiro to his feet. The meeting is over, it seems.

"Give some thought to what I'm offering," Lotor says, as Shiro stands to leave. "I really do have Altea's best interests at heart. And Allura's."

"Of course you do," Shiro says, and Lotor gives him one final unreadable look before he signals the guards to take him away.

 

"You really should trust him, you know," Ezor says, as they walk back through the courtyards of the castle.

Shiro considers her carefully. He remembers her from before the invasion - unlike Lotor's other generals, he actually met her a few times. She has brightly coloured hair and a rather bubbly personality that evaporates into ruthless efficiency in a fight. They got drunk together once, and she started a rather memorable arm wrestling contest. And now here they are, on opposite sides of an ugly conflict.

"Just like that?" Shiro asks. "It's hard to trust the people who betrayed us and invaded our country."

"Lotor has good intentions," Ezor says. "The invasion wasn't his idea. If Princess Allura comes back and marries him, won't that be better for everyone?"

"Not for her," Shiro counters, before he can stop himself.

Ezor turns to consider him. They are at the steps that lead down to the lower level of the Castle complex, with the barracks in sight ahead of them. Ezor turns and gives a nod to the sentries, who salute her and march back towards the keep, leaving Shiro alone with the General.

He could run. He could attack her. He could do all sorts of things. Is this another part of Lotor's schemes? Or is this Ezor acting alone?

"You know I can kick your ass if you try anything," Ezor says.

Shiro nods. He does know that, because he's seen her spar and gone up against her a couple of times in the past, and so he knows that any rash move on his part will end badly. Even if he makes a break for it, he has nowhere to go. The Castle is swarming with Galra soldiers, and after his stunt in the arena he's not exactly an anonymous face in the crowd.

He follows Ezor down the steps instead. She sticks close beside him, one hand on her sword hilt, and watches him the whole way.

"Is Lotor right?" she asks. "Were you really that close with the Princess?"

"I'm not going to tell you that," Shiro says.

"Just between the two of us."

"Come off it. I can't trust you."

They stop at the foot of the stairs, and Ezor turns to face him.

"I get it," she says. "But Lotor's not a terrible person. She'd be safe with him."

"Are you sure about that?" Shiro asks.

"Lotor means well. He knows about me, and he still made me a General. He's trying."

That's not nothing, considering what Shiro knows of Galran politics. Ezor likes women - _only_ women - and whilst that preference is not a problem in Altea, the Galra Empire has some odd ideas about what relationships are or aren't appropriate. During their one drunken escapade together, Ezor confessed to Shiro that she had to hide who she is and who she loves, for fear of persecution. But Lotor knows, and promoted her to General anyway. Which seems noble, on the face of it; but it does mean that Lotor knows something about Ezor that could potentially end her career and land her in jail. So is that protection? Or is it blackmail?

"You really trust him enough to tell him something like that?" Shiro asks.

"Well, I didn't tell him myself. He found out, and then offered to protect me."

A little warning bell goes off in the back of Shiro's mind, but he says nothing. Ezor isn't a friend. Maybe she was, once; maybe she could have been, if circumstances had turned out differently. But right now, she's too close to Lotor, and Shiro can't trust her.

"That's not as reassuring as you think," Shiro says.

"You always were a stubborn jackass," she mutters. She pushes Shiro on the shoulder, and they set off again towards the barracks.

"It's one of my finer qualities," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"I get it. You're protecting someone you care about."

"Or maybe I'm just being loyal to the crown that I serve," Shiro points out.

"Asshole," Ezor mutters.

"Yeah, yeah."

They reach the door of the barracks, and Ezor hands Shiro over to the guards.

"Tell Plytox he's to get extra rations," she says. "Lotor's orders."

She doesn't explain the reasons why, and Shiro is left to wonder if he's in Lotor's favour or just being bribed with preferential treatment. He needs to try and stay on Lotor's good side. And he needs to stay _alive_. There's a rebellion that needs his guidance and help, and if he's careful about it he might be able to get some useful intel out of Acxa or Ezor. All while not letting Haggar's prosthetic poison him. And not doing anything to draw the guards' suspicions.

He has no idea when Allura will be able to return, but it's unlikely to be soon. An invasion can't be organised overnight. Whatever Lotor has planned for him, he'll have to just ride it out as best he can.

The guards take Shiro by the shoulders to lead him inside, but when he looks back he sees Ezor staring at him thoughtfully. She catches his gaze, and flips him a rude gesture. As if they're old friends, getting into trouble together.

Does she really care about Lotor? Or is she just desperate enough to cling to him for the dubious protection he offers? That's another mystery Shiro will have to figure out on his own. He watches her turn on her heel and march away, before the guards tug on his arm and take him back inside the barracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks you dead in the eye as i unbury all the gays* ... in all seriousness, i actually planned for Romelle to survive all the way back when she first came up many chapters ago. she's just too awesome to kill off, especially in a story that's just me indulging all my fave things. so i decided to bring back badass unkillable lesbian Romelle and her sweet goofy pansexual wife Esma. I DO WHAT I WANT DOT GIF.
> 
> also: this chapter is the clearest portrayal yet of Lotor's actual personality in this fic. since canon is often... wildly inconsistent in how Lotor is portrayed, i just made up my own version of him and stuck to that. i know this chapter is mostly just talking, but i hope Lotor was at least interesting enough to make it worthwhile.


	20. season of mists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so after a bit of a hiatus due to real life things, i return! with a big long chapter full of angst!

Allura sits at the breakfast table in the royal suite of the embassy, and taps the Sufrid Glass with her fingertip. The runes carved into its outer edge catch the morning sunlight, and she frowns at the offending device.

"It activated again?" she asks.

Coran nods. "That's every day this week. Usually at the same time: early afternoon."

"And no one else has answered it?" Allura says.

"No, Princess. The steward took the message the first time, and then I spoke to Lotor the second time, but apart from that, we've left it. I've given strict orders that it's not to be touched, under any circumstances."

Allura scowls. She picks up the Glass and weighs it in her hands. Her father used them often, to communicate with Altea's embassies across the continent, and she knows how to activate it herself should the need arise. The fact that Lotor has possession of the Sufrid Glasses back in Oriande is not a good sign.

"What does he want?" Allura muses.

"He wouldn't say," Coran replies. "He just asked to speak with you personally."

"But that was over a week ago! Why is he still trying? He doesn't even know for sure that I'm here."

Coran leans over and takes the Glass gently from her hands, and lays it back in the velvet-lined chest where it resides.

"Perhaps he's trying to rattle you," he suggests. "Or he's trying to get information. Maybe he just wants to confirm a suspicion that you came to Olkar."

Allura shakes her head, and picks up her tea. Outside the window, the first cool breezes of autumn stir the trees, and the rumble of thunder sounds in the distant mountains. Olkar in the autumn is still warmer than Altea, but the rains come to take the edge off the heat, and the relatively cooler weather is a relief after the sweltering temperatures of high summer. But the change in the seasons is an unwelcome reminder of just how long Allura has been in Olkarian, and just how far she is from home. She longs for the chill winds of Oriande, blowing in off the sea, making her shiver in her walks around the gardens. They were always a sign of the turn of the year, and the impending harvest, and the cold darkness of winter. Olkar is warmer all year around, and snow is rare here. The unseasonable heat makes Allura homesick, but she cannot return just yet. There's still so much more to plan and organise before she can go home.

She sighs, and turns her gaze back to the inlaid chest that houses the Sufrid Glass.

"I can't answer it," she says to Coran. "He'll know I'm here. Our best option is still secrecy."

Coran nods his agreement, and doesn't press the issue. In truth, the very idea of talking to Lotor terrifies Allura. The thought that he might know she's here, and be planning to come and find her, fills her with sick dread. She can't bring herself to face him. There's nothing to gain from it, anyway. Let him try to activate the connection as much as he wants. She's not going to grant him an audience.

Coran bustles off to deal with paperwork and embassy business, and Allura finishes her tea and crosses back to her bedroom to get dressed for the day. She has a meeting with Queen Ryner and her war council this morning, and some more invasion plans that require approval… letters to reply to, strategies to mull over… a full day ahead. Every day in Olkarian follows a similar pattern: endless meetings and councils and discussions; painstaking letters in which every word and line is weighed and considered with the care of a surgeon's cut. Dinners with Queen Ryner and her daughter, and the other Generals in charge of the invasion; late suppers with Coran, after her meetings run over. And every day, the background business of dealing with the refugees: helping them, listening to them, finding them housing and shelter and occupation whilst they wait to return home.

It's been almost three months since she arrived - long enough to settle into a routine, and to come to know some familiar faces in the Embassy and amongst the Palace staff. Sometimes, it feels like the time has flown by. But at other times, her stay here feels interminable; impossibly long, as if each hour drags on for years. She feels as if she is inching slowly towards a return to Altea, one tiny step at a time, but there is always so much more to be done, so much more to plan and put into place, and there are days when the weight of the tasks still undone threatens to suffocate her.

She washes her face in her bathing room, and comes back into her bedroom to dress. The maids have laid out an elegant pink gown for her, and a tiara and necklace from the Embassy vaults. As the handmaid helps her into the dress and laces up the bodice, Allura's eyes stray to the shrine in its alcove in the corner of her room.

The picture of Shiro still stands there, propped up against the wall, slightly faded but still discernible. His knife lies on the stonework, surrounded by the melted stubs of candles. Over the months she has been here, the impromptu shrine has acquired several other charms and holy items: gold coins, crystals, paper folded into the shape of birds or flowers. As far as Allura can tell, they are left there by the servants - some of whom seem to understand the meaning of the shrine, even though Allura has never spoken of it to anyone. But there are some Hanyini folks on the Palace staff that Queen Ryner placed at Allura's disposal, and some from further afield in the Surmese Isles who share similar customs - or at least have an understanding of Hanyin spiritual beliefs. Whatever the reason, they feel the need to place good luck charms in the alcove under Shiro's picture, and clear away the melted wax and light fresh candles, so that when Allura returns late from meetings she finds the lights already flickering in the shrine. It is an odd source of comfort: an unspoken secret, shared without words. The burden of her grief is lessened every time she sees the coins and crystals and paper shapes under Shiro's likeness.

Still, there are days when she thinks it is time to dismantle the makeshift altar and embrace a more private form of mourning. Shiro himself remains missing and unaccounted for, and the uncertainty surrounding his fate weighs on Allura's heart like a stone. Queen Ryner sent out spies and scouts to look for him, but Altea is all-but closed to the world, and it is difficult to get any reliable information out of the kingdom. Oriande in particular is a fortress, with access in and out severely restricted; it is risky for Olkar's spies to even send messages. Like everything else since Allura arrived in Olkar, finding out what happened to Shiro is no easy feat.

The maids comb Allura's hair and pin up the curls in an elegant style atop her head, and she sits in front of the mirror and lets them work, and idly plays with the rings and bangles on her dressing table. As the weeks turn into months, it's harder to keep up the hope that Shiro is still alive. At first, she was determined not to give up, but now… she's not so sure. It's been so long, with no word of him, and at some point she has to just admit that he's probably dead. She doesn't want to acknowledge it, but the ugly truth grows inside of her every day, and sooner or later she will have to confront it. He's gone. He's not coming back. Her prayers and hopes are in vain; her shrine is nothing but a memorial for a dead man. He was the great love of her life, but they were destined to be torn apart; to have only three days of peace and happiness together, before death came to claim him.

Mizrin comes in whilst the maids finish with Allura's hair, and she forces herself to set aside melancholy thoughts and smile at the secretary as she hands her the day's documents. Mizrin is truly a blessing: punctual, polite, caring, always around when Allura needs her. Her stay in Olkar would have been infinitely more lonely without her.

"Are you ready, ladyship?" Mizrin asks, and Allura nods, and stands up from her dressing table. She casts one final glance towards the shrine in the corner, and follows Mizrin out of the room.

They descend the stairs and pause in the Embassy's central hall, to wait for the carriage and guards to come around. The room bustles with activity, but it is less chaotic than it was when Allura first arrived here. The flow of refugees from Altea has slowed to a trickle, as the country becomes harder to escape, and under her instruction Coran hired more staff to help manage the new arrivals and organise the community.

In the months since Altea fell, the Embassy has become something of a town hall for the displaced Alteans. They exist in limbo: unsure of when they can return home, but reluctant to get too settled in Olkarian nevertheless. And so they come back to the Embassy for news and information, and for help in finding food or lodging or work, or for any number of other things. Aside from the paid clerks and secretaries, Olkari volunteers attend the Embassy every day to help out. Some distribute food, or offer medical assistance; some provide classes for the refugee children who are not registered at the local schools. One older gentleman brings books; a few middle-aged ladies turn up once a week and bring henna and hair oils and other beauty treatments, and turn one of the side rooms into an impromptu spa. It all helps to ease the hardship for the Alteans who have fled here in terror.

This morning, a group of Alteans gather at one end of the hall, awaiting news or documents or assistance. Volunteers move through the crowd, noting down names and offering words of comfort. A young woman - one of the volunteers - sits cross-legged on an empty desk, talking animatedly, as the crowd watches with rapt attention.

She is a slight young woman with golden skin and dark hair, and pretty eyes and a ready smile. Her name is Lona, and Allura has often seen her around the Embassy, helping out with various tasks. She approaches everything cheerfully and without complaint: carrying papers, distributing food, or running simple errands. But her greatest talent is for telling stories. Sometimes she recounts old folktales or mythology, or histories of Olkar and the surrounding lands. Her family hails from the Surmese Isles, and she knows a wealth of stories and tales from all over. Her retellings are always worth listening to, and Allura strains to hear her over the background noise of the Embassy.

Today's story is not mythology or history, however - it is a tale from Altea after the fall. Such stories are popular amongst the refugees, no matter how fanciful or unrealistic, and the Alteans look on with bright eyes as Lona tells it. She is recounting a relatively new story: the tale of Princess Allura's Champion, a mighty warrior who rises from the earth to battle Zarkon's soldiers and protect Altea. Allura first heard this particular tale a few weeks ago, and it has only grown more elaborate with repeated retellings.

Allura half listens to it as she waits for her carriage to arrive. She's not sure where this particular story came from - is it made up? A fairytale? Is there a real person in Altea somewhere, fighting in her name? Allura has no idea. Her kingdom is closed to her, so it could mean anything or nothing. Such stories emerge all the time. There's no reason to assume that her 'Champion' really exists, or that he might be Shiro, fighting for her still. It would be foolish to get her hopes up on the basis of one folktale.

Allura asked Hafidah to look into it, anyway. Maybe it's just another false lead, but she is so desperate for any news of Shiro's fate that she'll clutch at any straws she can find. Hafidah agreed to it without question, but every time Allura asks her to investigate some story or report, another thorn of guilt digs into her heart. This is a waste of time. Every line of enquiry goes nowhere, and it takes up valuable resources that could be used to further the war effort.

The Altean refugees sit and watch Lona tell her tale, their eyes bright with hope, and Allura frowns and looks at the floor. Didn't Shiro tell her once that she was just like the refugees? They have all lost someone. They have all left people behind: family, friends, lovers, children. So why is Allura the only person who gets to send out spies just to look for her missing loved one? It's selfish, and the longer she goes with no news of Shiro's whereabouts, the harder it becomes to justify chasing down the next lead.

But weak as it is, she has to keep asking. Because if she stops, then she has to acknowledge that Shiro is gone forever, and she can't bring herself to make that admission just yet.

"Your highness." The voice comes from behind her, rousing her from her thoughts, and Allura looks up to see a cadet standing a few paces from her.

"We're ready for you, ladyship," the cadet says, and Allura nods. She casts one last glance over her shoulder at the Alteans listening to Lona's story, and then Mizrin falls into step beside her and they follow the cadet down to the courtyard.

A carriage stands outside on the driveway, and soldiers stand guard around it at a discreet distance. The cadet holds the door open as Allura steps inside and settles herself on the seat. Once Mizrin and Coran are also inside, the cadet climbs in after them and taps the roof hatch, and the driver pulls off.

The cadet's name is Mishtalia, and she has been a near-constant in Allura's life ever since she arrived in Olkar. Queen Ryner appointed her to act as Allura's personal guard and guide within the city, and she has been a cheerful companion ever since. She is small but surprisingly strong, with long black hair and warm brown skin, and the dark grey and purple uniform of the cadets looks neat on her slight frame. The gold trim marks her out as a senior cadet; the blue crescents on her cheeks mark her out as Altean.

Her family came to Olkar when Mishtalia was a girl - so she told Allura when they got to talking. Her father runs a bakery in the Altean quarter of Olkarian, and Allura has visited the shop a few times to meet Mishtalia's family and eat the sweet, sugary beignets that her father still makes by hand. They remind Allura of home; of warm fires and spring rains, and sitting with her cousins drinking spiced wine and eating too many sweets all in one go. Such memories are bittersweet, now. Her family is gone, and she longs to be back in Altea so that she can finally read the Rites of the Dead for them in the Temple, and honour their memories and their sacrifice. Perhaps if everything goes to plan, she can be back home by spring. _Perhaps_.

As the carriage trundles out of the Altean Embassy and through the streets of Olkarian, Mishtalia keeps a watchful eye on the road and a hand on her short sword where it hangs from her belt. The route from the Embassy to the royal palace is as safe as they come, but Mishtalia is always alert - she is the last line of defence, should the other guards fail to protect Allura in her travels. Her presence is a comfort, but Allura cannot help but think of Shiro whenever she sees Mishtalia standing by her side or watching the door during meetings. Because she is occupying a role that should have been Shiro's, if everything had gone according to plan. It should be Shiro holding the door or keeping an eye on the windows; it should be Shiro staying close to Allura's side as she explores the streets of Olkarian.

It isn't the cadet's fault, Allura reminds herself. And she doesn't regret meeting Mishtalia. But it still stings to be reminded that she needs a new personal guard. Allura watches Mishtalia peer out of the carriage window, and she imagines Shiro sitting in her place, keeping an eye on the route, maybe reaching for her hand as they roll into the palace compound… but he's not here. He might be dead already for all she knows.

Allura takes a deep breath and forces herself to stay focused and calm. She glances at Mizrin, and asks for the papers for the war meeting, and goes over her notes as the carriage passes through the palace gates. She can't think about Shiro right now. She has no time for the tears that will inevitably come, if she lets herself dwell on the loss of him.

 

Today's meeting takes place in the now-familiar war chambers, with Queen Ryner's officers and advisors gathered around the map table to discuss the latest developments in the invasion efforts. General Brina briefs them on the position of Olkar's troops, and the status of their allies; and then a military clerk stands up to relay some reports on logistics and supply lines.

Allura sits beside Queen Ryner and tries to pay attention, but many of the technical details go over her head despite her best efforts to understand them. Everything about the invasion plan seems to progress so slowly; the updates sound like minute tweaks, rather than substantial progress, and Allura has to work to keep the frustration from showing on her face.

Around half an hour into the discussions, Queen Ryner's daughter walks in. Princess Hafidah is a tall and well-built young woman, the same age as Allura, with golden skin and warm brown eyes. She was always an active and unruly child, even when they were younger, and she somehow never grew out of it, so that even as an adult she carries herself with an air of irreverent insolence. She strolls in late without so much as a word of apology, one hand lazily resting on the hilt of her sword, wearing battered leather armour and a green hijab pinned firmly around her head. Queen Ryner gives her a disapproving look, but it's the same one she's been giving Hafidah since she was a child, and repeated use has rendered it ineffective. Hafidah kisses her mother on the cheek and sits down with her feet up on the table, right next to Allura.

"Are we ready to charge in screaming yet?" she asks jovially. Queen Ryner tuts at her, but General Brina gives her a warm smile, as if she's entirely used to this behaviour.

"Not yet, ladyship," Brina says.

"Ugh, boring," Hafidah says, with a wink in Brina's direction. She pours herself tea, and turns to Allura.

"Is your magic looking glass still going off?" she asks.

Allura nods. "Every day. We've established that it's Lotor, but I haven't answered it yet."

"Do you want to?" Hafidah asks.

Allura glances around the room at the other advisors, and at Queen Ryner. They all look at her attentively; she has earned their respect during her time here, and they look to her for her opinion on how best to proceed. She clears her throat.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," she says. "It would confirm to the Galra that I'm in Olkar. They'd know where I am, and where I'm getting help."

"It could work to our advantage, though," Hafidah says. "Maybe he'll slip up and we'll get some useful information."

"I doubt it," Allura says. "Lotor's too smart for that. I don't see the point in confirming my whereabouts if we can't get anything concrete out of it."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Hafidah asks. "I can look him in the eye and tell him I'm gonna shove my sword so far up his--"

"Hafidah!" Queen Ryner warns, and the Princess rolls her eyes and grins at Allura, who slaps her playfully on the shoulder. She's still the same as she ever was, and it's a relief to know that no matter what else has changed, Hafidah remains as cheeky and outrageous as ever.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to marry her?" Ryner asks Allura, and Hafidah rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Ignore her," she says airily. "She's always trying to foist me off on people."

Hafidah gets up to inspect the map table with the generals, and Allura sips her tea and says nothing. In truth, it's not the first time Ryner has suggested a marriage between Allura and her daughter - the matter was discussed periodically when they were growing up, and Ryner has hinted at it a few times since Allura arrived in Olkar. And it's not a bad option for her future. It's just that… if she agrees to marry Hafidah, she gives up on Shiro for good. She would have to accept that he's not a part of her future, and she can't quite bring herself to do that yet. It feels like a betrayal. All she had with Shiro were a few stolen moments - that is all she can _ever_ have - but she still cannot bring herself to let go of him.

 

The meeting breaks for refreshments about an hour later, and Ryner approaches Allura as she stretches her legs in the quiet corridor outside the war room. Allura strolls past the ancient suits of armour and weapons and tries to work out some of the cricks in her neck, and as she turns back towards the meeting chamber she sees Queen Ryner standing by the window, gazing out through the stained glass, seemingly lost in thought. She turns and smiles as Allura approaches.

"Things are progressing well, according to the generals," she says.

Allura forces a weak smile. People keep telling her that everything is going to plan; the invasion is coming along nicely, her people will soon be free… but she doesn't believe it. It's hard to see any of it as real progress. It feels like the advisors talk over the same issues again and again, and Allura is always waiting for a breakthrough that never comes, because the whole plot moves forward at an agonising crawl.

"I had hoped we would be back in Altea by now," she says softly. She turns her face to the window. The stained glass paints reds and greens and blues on the far wall of the hallway, and through the clear patches Allura glimpses sunshine bathing the garden outside.

"I know it's frustrating," Queen Ryner says. "But I promise, things are progressing."

Allura nods, even though she can't quite believe it. Maybe if Shiro were here to help her understand the military side of things, it wouldn't feel so confusing and demoralising. Still, she forces herself to turn and face Ryner with a smile.

"Thank you," she says. "For all your help."

"Have you thought about your future, once you return to Altea?" Ryner asks.

"A little," Allura says, as if she has not obsessively daydreamed about every possible scenario concerned with her homecoming. But most of those dreams involve Shiro, somehow alive and well, rushing to meet her as she comes to claim her throne, and that's not something she wants to discuss with the Queen of Olkar.

"In all seriousness, you should consider a marriage to Hafidah," Ryner goes on, and the cold grip of fate closes around Allura's heart. So it is not merely an idle suggestion made for fun, then. Ryner is serious. She has one eye on the match, and is trying to promote it.

"The two of you get along," Ryner goes on. "I'm sure you could make it work. Altea may be vulnerable in the years after the invasion, and a marriage with the heir to the Olkari throne would send a strong message to your enemies. It tells them you have powerful allies in the region, and are not to be easily bullied. It could greatly strengthen Altea's position at a difficult time."

_And it would bring Altea one step closer to joining the Salamat Olkari_ , Allura thinks, but she keeps that thought to herself. Ryner may not even be viewing the match in such terms. Perhaps it is a genuine offer, with no ulterior motive. But Allura has to think of all the complications, now. As Queen, it is her job to look out for the good of Altea. A marriage with Hafidah might be beneficial in the short term, but what of Altea's long term future? Would it keep them safe at the expense of their independence? What happens when Hafidah takes the throne in Olkar? Allura has to weigh up all the angles before she can decide anything.

"I'll think about it," she says. She will have to, now. She can't be selfish about this. If it's the best choice for Altea, then she must take it. Even if the thought of having to tell Shiro that she is engaged to someone else makes her feel sick inside.

Ryner smiles, and places a hand on Allura's arm. "Give it some thought," she urges. "I know Hafidah's a bit of a handful, but she's very fond of you."

"I know," Allura says, her voice hollow, and Ryner gives her hand a final squeeze, before they return to the meeting.

 

Allura takes a late lunch with Hafidah, once the business of the morning's meetings is out of the way and everyone has returned from midday prayers. Mizrin gathers up her documents and hurries back to the Embassy to organise her notes, and Allura takes Mishtalia and wanders out into the Butterfly Garden to meet Hafidah. The garden sits beside a wide open lawn, and flowers in every imaginable hue fill the beds and hanging baskets. A row of stone arches - tastefully ruined for artistic effect - cast some welcome shade over the grass, and true to its name the space is full of butterflies, dancing between the blooms and darting across the sky. A cool wind refreshes the air, and the rumble of distant thunder reminds Allura that it will probably rain overnight.

The palace staff set up a lunch table on the terrace beside the arches, under the shade of an ancient oak tree. Hafidah is already there, reading through some memos and picking at the food as it arrives. Allura takes a seat beside her, and Mishtalia hovers in the background, keeping an eye on the garden and the open lawn beyond.

"Your mother wants us to get married," Allura says, without preamble, and Hafidah snorts.

"I'm serious!" Allura says, as she helps herself to lunch and the maids pour the tea. "She thinks it will strengthen Altea's position, if I ever get back there."

"Well, it would," Hafidah says. She sets aside the memos and helps herself to salad and yoghurt from the silver dishes on the table. "What's the matter? You don't want to be my wife?"

"Will you please take this seriously?"

"I am. It's a serious question. Would it be _so_ bad to be married to me?" Hafidah says it with a wink and a dramatic flourish, and Allura has to smile.

"No," she says. "It wouldn't. We'd be alright, wouldn't we?"

"If I'm being honest," Hafidah says, "ever since I was a child… I sort of expected that we'd end up together. Our parents always wanted it for us. It makes political sense - especially now. It wouldn't be the worst choice."

"No, I suppose not," Allura says quietly. She picks up her fork and twirls it on the table, lost in thought. Hafidah is right: it _would_ work. They get along well enough, and they could easily come to an arrangement on how to handle the day-to-day duties of marriage. All things considered, it might be a sensible option for Altea. _And yet_.

"Is this about your guard?" Hafidah asks.

Allura looks up to find her friend's eyes on her, sharp and perceptive, her usually irreverent expression replaced by something more thoughtful. Allura told Hafidah about her relationship with Shiro on their first evening together, when Hafidah returned to Olkarian to help plan the liberation of Altea. They've been friends for so long that Allura trusts her with such a secret, even if she cannot tell anyone else.

"Do you want to marry him instead of me?" Hafidah asks.

Allura looks back at the table and frowns, and twirls her fork in the woodwork, over and over. She doesn't know how to answer that question. Right now, she'll settle for knowing Shiro is alive. Beyond that… the ultimate outcome of their relationship remains uncertain. Shiro knew it, too - they both did. They knew they were indulging in something forbidden; something with no future, because the Queen cannot give her heart to a lowly guard.

"It's not about that," Allura says. "Even if he is still alive, I can't marry him."

"Why not?" Hafidah asks.

"You know why. We're royalty. We both grew up knowing that we likely wouldn't get to choose who we marry. Or if we did, it would have to be a strategic political decision, not an emotional one."

"But you're the Queen-in-waiting," Hafidah points out. "You can do whatever you want. Who's going to tell you not to?"

Allura shakes her head as she mulls over the question. The afternoon sun scatters through the leaves, and the butterflies dance in the sunbeams, and she ought to feel at peace in this beautiful garden, enjoying lunch with her oldest friend. But the pleasant day cannot lift her spirits; the scent of flowers in late bloom does nothing to shift the melancholy from her soul.

"It's not that simple," Allura says quietly. "I have to consider the fate of a whole country. Altea needs stability right now, not disruption or change."

"You can't escape the change. It's already come. Whatever happens now - whatever you choose to do - when you return to Altea, it will be for a fresh start."

Allura chews her lip, and looks out over the lawns. The great palace complex rises all around them, hemming them in with history and tradition, and Allura cannot help but wonder how much of the Castle back in Oriande is still intact. How much history was wiped out by the Galra invasion? What has been lost or destroyed in the violence? She won't know until she returns, and that won't be for months.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," she mutters. "He's probably dead." And she probably should just marry Hafidah. Of all her potential suitors, the Crown Princess of Olkar brings the most benefits to Altea. And Hafidah is a trusted friend, so the marriage itself wouldn't be a chore. She probably should just agree to it, and plan for a future where she and Hafidah rule together.

But Shiro's face rises up in her memory, full of light and humour, smiling down at her after some joke or compliment; she remembers the softness in his eyes as he held her, and the way their bodies fit together… How can she give up on him? How can she even contemplate it?

"Don't say that," Hafidah says, as if reading her thoughts. "We'll keep looking. It's only been three months. And I've got a good feeling about this _'Champion'_ lead. I'm going to meet the spymaster later to get the latest reports from Altea. We might really have something, this time."

"Thanks, Hafi." Allura manages a weak smile, but it doesn't reach her heart. Hafidah is an endless font of optimism, but so far none of their leads have ever panned out into anything solid. The constant cycle of raised hopes and crushing disappointment is exhausting. At this point, even confirmation of Shiro's death would be a relief. Allura could finally mourn, and then make peace with it. She could agree to marry Hafidah - what would it matter at that point? If she cannot marry the love of her life, she might as well marry a close friend and make the best of things.

Hafidah stands up, and places a comforting hand on Allura's shoulder.

"I have to get going," she says. "But I'll come by later if there's any news. And don't think too much about the marriage stuff. We'll figure that out later if we have to."

Allura nods, and watches her leave, and then she sighs and gestures to Mishtalia.

"Can you summon the carriage, please?" she says. "I need to return to the Embassy for my class."

 

Master Wen doesn't really seem old enough to be master of anything, but he's a teacher, and out of respect Allura calls him 'master' when they have their lessons. He's a Hanyin man in his late thirties, rather slim and neat, his dark hair starting to show flecks of grey. He comes to the Embassy twice a week to teach Allura Hon-sun.

They usually set up in Allura's study, and this evening the windows stand open to let in a cool breeze as Master Wen spreads out his books on the table and runs through vocabulary with Allura. When they started these lessons, she told him to treat her as he would any student, and that means vocab tests every week to make sure she is memorising the words he teaches her.

The decision to learn the language is a political one; at least, Allura justified it that way to Coran, on the basis that Altea's relationship with Nyhon Province is in need of serious improvement. If and when she returns to her country, Allura wants to be able to speak with the Hanyin representatives in their own tongue. Even if she cannot master it perfectly in time for the invasion, it is still a powerful gesture - one that no Altean royal has ever made before. And therefore the lessons are an important political and diplomatic endeavour, and it's not personal, and has nothing to do with wanting to see the look on Shiro's face when they meet again and she can greet him in Hon-sun.

Tonight, the lesson is about suffixes that change meanings.

"If you want to give a speech in Nyhon, you should learn some formal modifiers," Wen says. He drums his fingers on the table, and flips through one of the textbooks until he finds the page he's looking for. "These are not used in everyday conversation - they'll make you sound very old-fashioned. But for formal speeches, coming from a Queen, they're very appropriate."

"Alright," Allura says. "I need to know how to improve relations with Nyhon, and earn their trust."

Wen nods, and pushes the textbook towards her on the table. He clasps his hands neatly together and glances at the ceiling, as if thinking on how to begin.

"Let's start with some formal ways to apologise, then," he says. "We learned ' _ki nasi'_ early on, yes? _'I'm sorry'_ , in any casual context - that's usually enough. Now we will add some modifiers, so you can see how they work."

He leans over and taps the book, directing Allura's attention to the elegant Hon-sun runes marked on the page.

" _'nedu'_ is an abstract modifier, it implies the statement applies broadly, and is not specific," Wen explains, and Allura creases her brow and tries to commit his lesson to memory. " _'ki nasi nedu'_ therefore means _'I'm sorry'_ in an abstract sense, and is used when expressing sympathy for something bad that happened that was not one's fault. So for example… the loss of your guard, with whom you were close. I might say _'ki nasi nedu'_ in response."

" _Ki nasi nedu_." Allura ignores the hollow in her chest as she repeats the words back, and Wen tweaks her pronunciation. That is all anyone has to say about Shiro - _'I'm sorry'_. Everyone is sorry, but everyone is helpless. Allura pushes that thought aside and concentrates on the lesson.

"I taught you _'ki nasi janu'_ \- for something you are responsible for," Wen goes on. "Another useful modified form is _'ki nasi jin'_. It's used to express regret over something that was not strictly one's fault, but which one feels responsible for. For example, if you were to approach the Hanyin leaders and apologise for Altea's treatment of Nyhon in the past, you might use the form _'ki nasi jin'_. It implies that you feel responsible, even if those actions were not your fault, or your choice."

Allura nods, and repeats it, and tries to memorise it.

"This last one might be a little too strong," Wen continues, once he's happy with her pronunciation. He taps the last word listed in the book. " _'haari'_ is a suffix that implies that the expressed emotion is sincere and heartfelt. _'ki nasi haari'_ means _'I am sorry, with all my heart and soul'_. So as you can see, it's very powerful. But it might be appropriate when trying to express deep-seated regret over Nyhon's poor treatment in the past."

Allura nods, but she is only half-listening. It is suddenly hard to breathe. Because she heard _'haari'_ before - in the inn in Naxum, the word falling from Shiro's lips as he kissed her. _'Ki amantu haari'_ , murmured against her skin, the words beautiful in their strangeness; a phrase Shiro never explained, or translated. The sensation of that time comes flooding back to her in an unexpected rush: the warmth of it, the softness, the feeling of being so completely adored and seen and admired.

" _'ki nasi haari'_ ," she echoes, hardly hearing her own voice. "Can you give me some more examples with _haari_? I'm just curious."

Master Wen smiles and sits back in his chair, and waves an elegant hand airily.

" _Haari_ is a very old-fashioned modifier, but it has a wonderfully strong meaning," he explains. "So for example: _'ki bariktu'_ means 'I hate you'. Now if you add _'haari'_ to it, you get _'ki bariktu haari'_ \- I hate you with my entire being, from the depths of my soul. This expression of hatred is so powerful, it is considered a curse of sorts. Many old Hanyini dramas will have one character say to another _'ki bariktu haari'_ , and that activates a curse, and terrible things happen to them because of it."

Allura swallows around the lump in her throat, and nods.

"And the opposite?" she asks, not daring to hope, not knowing if she wants to hear a familiar string of syllables and know - finally, truly - just how much Shiro cared for her.

" _'ki amantu'_ ," Wen says, and Allura's heart breaks anew, the pain as fresh and bright and bitter as the day she left Shiro behind to die. " _'ki amantu'_ means _'I love you'_ , and _'ki amantu haari'_ means something like… I love you with all my heart and soul, with my whole being, with everything I am."

Allura puts a hand to her chest, fighting back tears, and Wen leans back in his chair and continues.

"This isn't said very often, of course," he says. "It's more common in old poetry and drama, where it's used to convey an intense and burning love. So in the Hanyini telling of Mahran and the Moon, for example - when Mahran lies in Lady Hiria's arms, after he has sacrificed his life for her, he says _'ki amantu haari'_ with his dying breath. He gifts his heart to her as he departs the mortal realm.

"In more modern speech, a lover would usually say this for the first time when they propose marriage. So when I proposed to my husband, I told him _'ki amantu haari'_ , and of course he got very emotional. Because he knew I intended to propose, once I said those words. And it's often included in wedding vows, as well. Rather beautiful, when you think about it."

But Allura cannot answer him. If she tries to speak right now, she will start sobbing, and she does not want to cry in front of Master Wen. She clenches her fist on the table, and tears blur the words on the page in front of her - but she will not cry for Shiro again. She needs to move past this grief and be strong and composed; she needs to be the leader her people look to in their hour of need. It's time to put this pain aside and focus on saving her people, and securing Altea's future. Not selfish wishes for a man who is probably dead.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Wen asks, but Allura cannot find words to answer him. She dimly hears his chair shift, and then he sits down next to her and places a hand on her shoulder.

"You have heard these words before, I think?" he says.

She nods. "Someone said them to me," she whispers.

Wen strokes her shoulder gently, and when he replies his voice is soft.

"They must have loved you very much," he says simply.

"Perhaps," she says, her voice distant and strained with the effort of not breaking down. "But it doesn't matter now. He's gone."

" _Ki nasi nedu_ ," Wen says. "I don't know what happened. But to be loved so profoundly and completely… that is a rare and beautiful gift."

Allura's lip trembles, and she reaches up to wipe her eyes before the tears have a chance to spill out onto Master Wen's book.

"Do you mind if we end here today?" she asks.

Wen nods. "Of course, Princess. I'm sorry this brought up difficult memories for you. _Ki nasi jin_ , for that, you see. I am sorry for my part in your pain."

"It's not your fault," Allura says. She clears her throat and manages a weak smile as Wen stacks up his books. He gives her shoulder a final sympathetic squeeze and lets himself out.

Allura sits there and stares out of the window. She contemplates giving up on everything and going to bed, where she can cry her heart out in peace. But she has work to do. She can't spend another evening moping around, selfishly indulging her own sorrow and neglecting her duties. She has responsibilities; letters to write, memoranda to read, decisions to make. She gets up and scrubs her eyes, and sends for Mizrin to bring her some coffee, and gets to work.

 

Allura throws herself into the pile of documents on her desk and makes her way through every boring note and frustrating letter - anything to keep her mind off Master Wen's lesson, and the memory of Shiro's words. Dwelling on it will not bring him back, and she has a whole nation full of people depending on her. Paperwork is the best use of her time, and she forces down every melancholy thought and commits herself to getting to the bottom of the stack of papers.

But thoughts of Shiro resurface, despite her best efforts to keep them in check. Her mind wanders from the words in front of her, and she recalls Shiro's easy smile, and the gentle touch of his hands, and her heart aches. Wen's lesson brought back memories of Naxum, and the recollection of that time threatens to drown her in misery and regret.

She suspected, when Shiro said _'ki amantu haari'_ to her, that it was a confession of love. He whispered the words with such reverence; with such fierce intensity in his eyes. How could it be anything else? And although she always longed to know the meaning of the phrase for certain, it needed no translation in her heart. She knew.

But the true depth of it… that was not what she expected. That Shiro loved her, she didn't doubt - even if she never said anything about it when they were together, or never pushed the matter. And when he confessed it on the pier, she was surprised only that he had said the words aloud, not that he might feel that way for her. But the idea that he loved her so completely and so desperately knocks the breath out of her. It sends fractures through her heart. _'Ki amantu haari'_ was more than just _'I love you'_. Shiro gave his soul to her, and she never even realised. He loved her with everything he had - every atom of his being, every beat of his heart - and then he gave his life for her, because how could he do anything less?

And now he's gone, and she doesn't know whether to hold onto hope that he survived, or let herself grieve and move on. Tears blur her vision again, and she angrily wipes them away and refocuses on the letters in front of her. How can she be so selfish? What does it matter if he loved her more than life itself? Falling for him was a foolish indulgence, and clinging onto the memory of him is a pointless distraction. She should know better.

The servants bring up her supper a little while later, but her foul mood robs her of her appetite, and she leaves most of the food on the plate. Mizrin expresses concern over her untouched dinner, and fetches her a mug of herbal tea with instructions to take some rest for the evening. Allura nods absently, and takes the tea to her sofa by the window. She sits in the cool night air and tries to read a book for a while, but her eyes stray constantly to the shrine in its alcove on the other side of the room.

A fresh round of guilt gnaws away at her and makes it hard to concentrate on her novel. She feels bad for still clinging to Shiro's memory and spending time looking for him, when she should be diverting all her efforts to helping her people. But when she thinks about moving on, she feels guilty for that, too. There's no good answer to her dilemma.

When Allura first arrived in Olkar, she promised herself she wouldn't give up on Shiro. But just a few hours ago, she was contemplating an offer of marriage from someone else. And yet the words Shiro whispered to her in the inn were tantamount to a proposal of their own. He loved her so much, even then - even knowing how hopeless it was.

If _ki bariktu haari_ is a curse, can _ki amantu haari_ be a blessing? Are the words themselves powerful enough to bind one soul to another? To entwine their fates, and set them along the same path? Allura finds some comfort in the thought. If it's true, then Shiro gave her his heart for safe keeping, before he gave his life to ensure her escape. Perhaps he is like Mahran: departing this life, but leaving his soul behind for her to cherish and hold on to. Maybe that's why he is still so real to her, in all her memories of him; perhaps that's why she still feels his presence, as if he is in the room with her, even when he's not.

As Allura finishes the last of her tea, she hears movement out in the lobby, and the sound of voices. Coran sometimes comes up this late, just to check on her, and she mentally braces herself for his admonition that she should be in bed already. A moment later, the door opens, but it is not Coran standing in the doorway, but Hafidah.

Allura gets up in surprise, and crosses the room to meet her. Hafidah's usual impertinent demeanour is gone; she looks serious, and her face is tense.

"What is it?" Allura asks.

Hafidah reaches her, and takes both her hands, and Allura's heart thunders against her ribcage.

"We found Shiro," Hafidah says. "He's alive."

The words land like arrows through Allura's heart, and for a moment she stands there in shock, unable to believe it, unable to understand Hafidah's meaning. And then it sinks in, and her legs give way beneath her. She collapses to the floor, Hafidah holding her, and something breaks down inside her. Whatever steely resolve kept her grief at bay, it crumbles to dust at the revelation that Shiro is alive after all.

She chokes out a broken sob, and then the tears come in earnest. The tears don't stop, even as Hafidah wraps her arms around her; they pour out of her, until her body shakes and her breaths are ragged gasps dragged from her lungs. She clings to Hafidah's shoulder and cries, heedless of her words of comfort. After months of grief and despair and longing - after giving up over and over, only to crawl back towards hope again, unable to abandon Shiro forever… he's alive. _He's alive_.

"The Champion that the refugees spoke of - it's Shiro," Hafidah says. "A spy was able to confirm it from one of our contacts in the capitol. He's a gladiator. They made him fight in the ring."

Fresh fear grips Allura's heart. Shiro is alive - for now. But for how long? He's in danger, hundreds of miles away, beyond her reach and her aid. She sobs into Hafidah's shoulder, unable to find words, and Hafidah holds her and soothes her, and tells her they will do whatever they can to keep Shiro safe.

"Prince Lotor is sponsoring him in the ring," she explains. "I don't know why. But he seems to be surviving for now, and the Prince is looking out for him. The witch gave him a prosthetic to fight with."

The immediate crippling terror subsides, but in its wake comes a wave of confusion and guilt. Allura struggles to draw breath as her chest tightens and the sobs wrack her body. She left him behind, and now he's fighting in the gladiator pits - and who knows what dangers he's facing. Why is Lotor keeping him alive? And how long will that favour last? She left him, and never went back for him, and now he's all alone and scared and hurting, and there is nothing she can do.

"I left him there," she wails, and Hafidah holds her tightly and strokes her hair as a fresh wave of tears engulfs her. "I left him behind."

"He made that choice," Hafidah reminds her. "He sacrificed himself to save you. But he's still alive, and we can still help him."

"Why would Lotor sponsor him? Why would he help him?"

"I don't know," Hafidah whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She holds Allura tighter, and Allura gives in to the storm of her feelings and cries, curled up in a ball in Hafidah's arms. She doesn't know how long it takes her to cry herself out - only that Hafidah cradles her gently through all of it, and tells her everything will be alright. Eventually, the tears dry up, and Allura regains enough composure to get up off the floor and stand on shaky legs. Hafidah helps her to the sofa and pours her some water, and sits beside her and takes her hand.

"We don't know everything that's going on in Oriande," she says. "But Shiro's alive, and now that we know that, we can find a way to help him."

Allura nods weakly. Her hands shake, and she grips Hafidah's fingers and leans into her shoulder. The mixed emotions of the day tumble over in her mind, all jumbled up together: hope and relief and guilt and fear, and the ever-present ache of longing. It has been so long since she saw Shiro; since she held him close and kissed him, and promised him they would stay together. But he is alive, somehow, against all odds, and she has to cling onto that knowledge in the weeks ahead. He did not die on the waterfront in Naxum, or perish in Haggar's prison. He is alive and fighting for her still. He did not give up on her, and she cannot give up on him.

She looks across to the shrine, and the candles that burn in front of Shiro's likeness. Tears blur her vision, but she can still make out Shiro's face in the portrait she drew all those weeks ago. Her beloved - her _marksglow_ \- the other half of her heart. She thought she would never see him again. And now there is a chance that they will be reunited; that when she rides back into Altea at the head of an army, she will find Shiro waiting for her after all.

 

Hafidah stays with her all night, lying beside her in the bed as she drifts off to sleep, and Allura is more grateful for the gesture than she can express. To be alone at such a time would drown her. Once the tears are dried and the lamps lowered, they lie next to each other and talk - about Shiro, about what is to be done next, about what hope exists now for his safe recovery from Altea.

After months of misery, Allura allows herself some rare optimism; and once she starts hoping again, it's hard to stop. Shiro is _alive_ , against all odds. He's a fighter, and he has survived this far, and she knows he won't give up easily. It is possible they will be reunited one day. And that knowledge changes everything.

"Do you mind if we don't get married?" Allura asks Hafidah, her voice sleepy, the candles burning low.

Hafidah laughs, and pulls her into a hug, and kisses her forehead.

"I'm devastated, naturally," she says, not even remotely seriously, and Allura laughs.

"Do you think you might marry your guard after all?" Hafidah asks.

"I don't know if I'll be able to marry him," Allura says. "But I'm going to get him back."

"That's the spirit," Hafidah says.

She holds Allura as she drifts off to sleep, and for the first time in weeks, her dreams are peaceful and untroubled.

 

Allura awakes the next morning with a fresh sense of purpose. Hafidah grumbles at her sleepily - she was never a morning person - but she perks up when the servants bring in breakfast, and Allura takes the opportunity to lay out her new plan.

"So wait… now you want to speak to Lotor?" Hafidah asks.

Allura nods. She loads up her plate with second helpings; yesterday she barely ate, but today she's cheerful and starving and in the mood to eat all the food on the table.

"I was thinking about how it might benefit us," Allura explains. She waves her fork at Hafidah for emphasis, and Hafidah raises an eyebrow at her enthusiasm.

"Oh yeah? What can we get out of it?"

"Lotor has always underestimated me," Allura says. "I think we can make him believe that there's no invasion on the horizon. Or at least, not a big one."

Hafidah stares at her, and then at the table, and drums her fingers on the arm of her chair.

"How?" she asks eventually. "That man's a snake. You can't just call him up and go 'I'm never coming back, don't worry'."

"I know. He probably won't take anything I say at face value. But the Galra must be expecting retaliation for the conquest - they must be waiting to see what I'll do. Lotor probably wants to bait me into coming back, or giving away our plans. But I think I can trick him into thinking I have nothing, and I'm stuck here kicking my heels."

"It's risky," Hafidah says. "He'll know you're here."

"I know. That's the downside. But I've known Lotor for years. He has a very high opinion of himself, and a very low opinion of everyone else. If he thinks he's seen right through me, he'll be too busy patting himself on the back to realise he's been played."

Hafidah considers this, her brow creased in thought.

"I'll be in the room with you, listening," she says. "And we'll have to be careful about what you say."

"Agreed. But we can pull it off."

"Alright. What's your play?"

 

The plan is simple, and Allura talks it over with Hafidah, General Brina, and Queen Ryner later that morning. Brina has some suggestions and cautions of her own, and Ryner offers Allura some advice on playing the part, but between them they agree that speaking to Lotor through the Sufrid Glass has benefits that outweigh the risks. Coran is the only one who expresses concern, asking Allura several times if she is _sure_ she wants to go through with this plan, but she insists. If she succeeds, it will buy them all time to plan the invasion, and significantly lower the risk of detection as they put all the pieces in place. Lotor will be left thinking no invasion is forthcoming, and that gives them all more room to breathe.

They set up in Allura's office in the Embassy, at around the time when Lotor usually tries to contact them, and Allura instructs the servants very minutely on how the room should be arranged. All signs of wealth or luxury are removed; signs of mess and clutter are half-hidden in the background instead. Allura puts on a dress from the mending pile - something that was once fancy, but has since noticeably worn out. Her circlet goes back in the box and is taken away to her bed chamber, and in its place she selects ostentatious but mismatched jewellery.

Overall, the effect is of a royal decidedly down on her luck, but desperately trying to hide it. The rest will be down to Allura's performance. Her mother told her many times that diplomacy is like playing a role in a theatre: she must embody the part, not just act it. Think her way into the mindset of a deposed princess, cut adrift, living penniless in an Embassy because she cannot find help anywhere.

"He might bring up Shiro," Hafidah cautions, as they set up the Sufrid Glass on Allura's desk, and clear the rest of the room. "Be ready for it. Don't react."

"I won't, don't worry," Allura says.

"Keep your eye out for small details," General Brina adds. "Anything you can pick up from his surroundings that might help us."

Allura nods. She closes her eyes and takes several deep breaths, and thinks about how to present herself, and how she needs to come across. Her hands tremble with nerves, but she focuses on her breathing, on each inhale and exhale, and wills herself to be calm.

If only Shiro were here. But he is alive, and that thought alone gives Allura strength. He would approve of this plan: it's fearless and daring, bordering on reckless, which is exactly why Shiro would encourage her to go through with it. She recalls clearly the time when they stayed with the Holts, and Shiro rode off into town to spy on the Galra soldiers, and then instigated a rebellion amongst the Altean military right under Lotor's nose. A grim smile tugs at her lips. One day, she will get to tell Shiro that she answered Lotor's summons on the Sufrid Glass and then played him like a fiddle, and Shiro will grin and tell her he's proud of her, and that thought gives her the strength to open her eyes, and nod at Hafidah and Coran. She's ready. She can do this.

"Ladyship," Brina says. "It's time."

All eyes turn to the Sufrid Glass, where it stands on Allura's desk. Right on cue, the runes light up around the edges. Lotor is activating the Glass on his side, hoping for an answer. Hafidah gestures everyone back, behind the desk and out of sight, and Brina barks at the clerks and guards to keep silent. Allura inhales and exhales, and flexes her fingers. It's time.

She summons a little quintessence in her hands, and reaches for the Glass. As she concentrates, the trickle of energy runs out of her fingers and into the golden frame, adding to the white glow in the runes. The surface of the mirror swirls and sparkles - and then the mirror clears. Prince Lotor stares back at her, and when he catches her eye, he smiles in a way that makes him look like a predator that has finally caught up with its prey.

"Ah, Princess Allura," he says, his voice like poisoned honey. "So wonderful to finally speak with you."

"What do you want, Lotor?" Allura asks. She lets the fear and anxiety mix into her voice, so that she sounds tense - on edge - uncomfortable. She frowns and folds her arms, her shoulders hunched. Let Lotor think that his repeated attempts to contact her have finally worn down her resolve; let him think she is giving in and talking to him out of frustration and annoyance.

"I'm just concerned for your welfare, that's all," Lotor says. "No one's heard from you since you left." His eyes dart across her form - the faded dress, the mismatched jewellery set - and Allura puts a hand to her necklace. As if she is self-conscious; uncomfortably aware of her own lowered position.

"It's a little late for that sentiment, don't you think?" she says sharply. "Your father stole my country!"

"I apologise for his behaviour," Lotor says. Too smooth, too polished; completely lacking any sincerity. Allura glares at him, but her mind races to note any useful details from what she can see of him. He's in an office - his back to a window - the Galra flag hangs over a bookcase, there's papers and books strewn across the desk in front of him - nothing more useful than that. Nothing concrete.

"I've been trying to contact you for some days now," he goes on. "I was hoping we could talk privately. Try to get this sorted out."

Allura does not have to feign the disgust that pulls her features into a scowl. Everything is a game to Lotor. Even now, he is looking to right this wrong with a few sweet words and empty promises.

"We have nothing to discuss," she says. "Your family ruined my kingdom and then you drove me into exile! Stop trying to contact me. Just leave me alone."

"You misunderstand my intentions," Lotor says. "I was worried for your safety in the wilds. It was my wish to find you and bring you home to Oriande, so that we can put a stop to some of this unpleasantness."

She has to remind herself that he's lying. He's lying. He was there the day of the invasion, threatening her, gloating about how they would soon be wed. She can't trust anything he says. Especially not when he keeps describing a violent invasion as 'unpleasantness'.

"I'm never going anywhere with you!" she snaps. A foolish thing to say - rash and uncontrolled - the words of a petulant and naïve child. Lotor reacts exactly as she expected: a condescending smile, and a glint in his eye. He thinks he has the upper hand.

"You must know that if you return to Oriande as my bride, my father will leave Altea," Lotor says. "He's only still here because you ran away. Come back and marry me, and he'll leave Altea to me. We'll rule together, as King and Queen."

The very thought of it is abhorrent. But Allura lets uncertainty creep into her expression; she toys with her necklace and looks away, as if she is unsure of what to say or do next.

"Why would I ever trust you?" she demands.

"Oh, come now, Allura," Lotor says. "We've known each other for years. You know I would never hurt you. I'm trying to help! Altea needs its Princess, and I know you want the throne. Come back as my wife, and you can have it."

"I don't need your help!" Allura protests - too much, too emotional - and she watches Lotor's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "I'll return someday, and when I do, I'll kick you off the throne myself! With my bare hands!"

She clenches her fists and glares at him - and Lotor takes the bait. She sees it in his eyes. It's the word _'someday'_ , so carefully dropped in there, under the pretence of an emotional outburst. _Someday_ means there's no plan. _Someday_ sounds like a Princess cut adrift, wearing the faded remains of her royalty, trying and failing to cling to her composure.

"There's no need for that, Allura," Lotor says sweetly. "You must be concerned about abandoning Altea for so long, surely? I don't know exactly how these things work, but aren't there some rituals you need to perform?"

She crosses her arms and looks away. She already feels guilty for leaving the land to be corrupted, so it is easy to summon up that feeling and plaster it across her face. She looks back at Lotor through a mask of confusion and hurt. This role is simple: the frustrated Princess with no idea what to do, contemplating Lotor's offer because she doesn't know how else she will ever get her kingdom back. Lotor's expression softens into carefully constructed sympathy, and he folds his hands together on the desk in front of him.

"I spoke with your guard," he says, and it takes every ounce of strength Allura possesses to not react. She cannot let Lotor know how much Shiro means to her. She can't risk it. She has to let him believe they simply travelled together, and that Shiro did his duty and nothing more.

"He's alive, by the way," Lotor goes on, and Allura allows only the barest trace of concern to show on her face. "I've managed to protect him so far. I did offer him the chance to talk with you, but he turned it down. If you ask me, he seemed like he was angry at you, but of course it's not my place to say."

Allura's heart clenches, and she bites her tongue and forces herself to say nothing. Lotor is lying. Shiro would never be angry at her - would he? Is he furious at being left behind? Does he blame her for not coming back? No - he would never. Lotor is lying, and trying to get under her skin.

"Should I give him a message from you?" Lotor asks. "He's my gladiator, you know. I can send him your regards."

Allura's mind races with all the possibilities suddenly placed in front of her. Could she send Shiro a cryptic message? Can she slip something past Lotor's guard? It's so tempting to take him up on the offer; she has not spoken to Shiro in months, and there are so many things she longs to say to him. She bunches her hand into a fist. She won't use Lotor as a go-between. He's not to be trusted. He would only twist the words or the message, or spin it to his own benefit. And to send any message at all would be to admit that she cares about Shiro - that she wants to speak with him - that they share a bond. That is something she cannot afford to let Lotor know.

"He doesn't need any message from me," Allura says, and she bends all her will to making the words come out casual and careless. "He's a guard. He did his duty. If he's angry about his choices then he shouldn't have been a guard in the first place."

Lotor smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "No wonder he's so heartbroken. I'll tell him you said that, shall I?"

"Tell him whatever you want," Allura snaps, even though his words feel like ice poured into her bloodstream. _He's a liar, he's a liar, he's a liar_ , she repeats to herself, over and over. He's toying with her. Trying to get a reaction; to get some hint that Shiro is a valuable hostage and someone Allura cares about. Lotor must suspect the true nature of their relationship: he found them at an inn where they shared a room, and he saw them together on the pier. But if Allura confirms those suspicions, she hands Lotor a huge degree of power over her. She cannot afford to let him know how much she cares for Shiro - even if concealing the true nature of her feelings risks putting Shiro in more danger. Will Lotor let him die, if he thinks he's no longer useful as a bargaining chip? Allura swallows down that fear and guilt, and meets Lotor's gaze with a glare of annoyance.

"Very well," Lotor says smoothly. "If you won't come back and marry me, can I assume you'll be in Olkar for the foreseeable future?"

Allura scowls and looks away. "I'm considering my options," she says tersely. It sounds defeated, which is precisely what she wants.

"Do you need money for travel?" Lotor asks, the humour evident in his voice. "I can send you some, if you like. For old time's sake. I mean, if you can't afford to travel back here, and that's the only reason you're refusing my offer."

"I don't need anything from you!" Allura says. Her voice rises - frustration, annoyance - and she takes hold of her earring - as if she is self-conscious of her own lack of money. Lotor doesn't miss the action, and his eyes sparkle as if he has uncovered a great secret. _Perfect_.

"I have money," Allura adds, in the tone of voice of one who most certainly does _not_ have money, but is embarrassed to admit that. Lotor grins at her, and she senses how much he's enjoying this. Because he thinks he's won; he thinks he's discovered the lost Princess, alone and penniless and living out of an Embassy, with no allies and no plans and no future.

"Well, have it your way," he says. "My offer stands if you reconsider. Both of them, in fact. You can always reach me through the Glass. You know. If your other options don't work out."

"Leave me alone, Lotor." Allura glares at him, and Lotor flashes her one final charming smile, before the Glass goes dim and his face disappears.

Allura leans forward and snaps the Glass shut, and sags in her chair. Her whole body shakes, and Mizrin hurries forward with a glass of water to make sure she is alright. Allura glances past her to the assembled clerks and advisors all gathered on the other side of the desk, beyond the mirror's field of view. Several clerks have notebooks out, pencils scribbling away - no doubt recording every word exchanged between herself and Lotor, to be picked apart later. General Brina nods her approval, and Queen Ryner gives Allura a rare smile.

"That was quite a performance," she says. "Well done."

"What did you notice? Anything?" Hafidah asks. She comes over to sit at Allura's side, and rub a comforting hand over her shoulders. Allura takes deep breaths and sips on the water and tries to calm her racing heartbeat.

"He took the bait," she tells Hafidah. "I could see it in his eyes. He thinks I'm helpless."

Hafidah nods. "I got that impression as well. I think it worked. How are you feeling?"

Allura grins at her. Beneath the anxiety and disgust, she feels something else - something bright and powerful and exciting.

"Exhilarated," she says. "I can't believe that worked!"

"You did great, 'Lura." Hafidah chuckles, and slaps her hard on the shoulder. "You outsmarted a snake and threw him off the scent."

"I don't suggest you speak with him again," Brina cautions, and Allura nods.

"Once was enough, believe me. But still! That's real progress, isn't it?"

"It is," Hafidah says with a smile. "Now we have to use this to our advantage."

She gets up to talk to Brina, and Allura lets out a long, slow breath. Shiro would be proud of her. She can mull over all of Lotor's words later, but for now, she allows herself to feel optimistic about the outcome. Lotor fell for the ruse. For the first time since she fled Oriande, it feels like she has the upper hand.

 

That night, when she prays her evening devotions beside Shiro's shrine, she does so with a lightness in her heart that she has not felt since Naxum. He's alive. For all the fear and worry, and the heartbreaking distance between them, the knowledge that he survived lends her supernatural strength. She is not afraid of Lotor anymore. She no longer feels overwhelmed by the tasks ahead.

"I'm coming for you, my _marksglow_ ," she whispers, as she lights the candles in front of Shiro's picture, and arranges them between the coins and charms. "I haven't given up on you."

His eyes gaze back at her from the portrait, and in her mind she hears his voice, whispering soft words: _ki amantu haari,_ I love you more than life itself. He loved her so deeply and so fiercely, and in her heart she knows he loves her still. She will return his devotion tenfold; she will fight any battle and risk any pain to get him back.

"I will come for you, _amwen_ ," she says. "I will always come back for you."

And even though hundreds of miles divide them, she feels the echo of his presence in her heart. Their fates are bound together - she knows that, now. The Goddess spared Shiro from death, and the Goddess will bring him back to her. All she has to do is keep hoping, and keep working towards the day when she can ride back into Altea in triumph, and see Shiro standing there waiting to greet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all like Hafidah. she's one of my fave OCs. when will i let my OTP reunite? when will i bring them back together? WHOMSTVE KNOWS!!


	21. the sound of the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as the invasion plans move forward, desperate schemes and dark revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: this chapter is absolutely the darkest i've written for this fic so far. it touches on some quite serious subjects - nothing that hasn't been hinted at before, but still. just be braced for some unpleasantness, especially when Lotor is around.

The days following her conversation with Lotor bring a fresh round of frustrations for Allura. The relief of knowing Shiro is still alive gives way to a gnawing sense of guilt. He survived - but he is still in captivity in Oriande, and Allura has no means of protecting him, or securing his release.

Queen Ryner is sympathetic, but she holds firm: she cannot justify sending spies or agents into Oriande just to retrieve one person. And Allura cannot press the matter, because then she'll have to explain to Ryner why exactly she cares so much about one guard out of hundreds who risked their lives for her. Which leaves her kicking her heels and stewing in her own impatience. There has to be _some_ way to get Shiro to safety. Can she send a message to the soldiers in Oriande and ask them to stage a jailbreak? Can she contact Lotor on the Glass and trade for Shiro's life?

Hafidah intervenes before Allura can follow that trail of thought to its desperate conclusion. She comes up to Allura's quarters one evening, about three days after she first brought Allura the news of Shiro's survival, and lets herself into the drawing room. Allura sits on the couch, the Sufrid Glass in her hands, running her thumbs over the engraved case.

"You're not thinking of talking to Lotor again, are you?" Hafidah asks. She sits down on the armchair opposite Allura, and gently takes the Glass out of her hands.

"What if I offered to go back to Oriande, in exchange for Shiro's release?" Allura asks. "I could trick Lotor into thinking--"

"No, _no_. Absolutely not."

"I have to do _something_ ," Allura protests. She flops back on the sofa and folds her arms. "Your mother won't help me, what am I supposed to do?"

"Not this." Hafidah holds up the mirror for emphasis, and tucks it away in the box on the table. "We were lucky to trick him once, but if you contact him again you could ruin everything. Besides, it's not like you can actually trust him to do what he says. He'd just trick you right back. Promise me you won't talk to him."

Allura huffs and looks at the ceiling, but Hafidah is right. She's being ridiculous. Any attempt to bargain for Shiro's release will only confirm to Lotor that he's a valuable hostage, and that's something she's worked hard to conceal.

"Then what do I do?" she asks.

"I might have a solution," Hafidah says.

Allura sits up, suddenly curious. The sun has long set, and the only light in the room comes from the lamps and the fire burning low in the grate. It reminds Allura of all the late-night conspiracies she cooked up with Hafidah when they were children. So much has changed down the years, but the fundamental nature of their friendship remains the same.

"What is it?" Allura asks. "I'll consider anything."

Hafidah holds up a finger. She gets up and goes to the door, where she speaks in a low voice to someone on the other side, and gestures them into the room with a tilt of her head. As the figure enters, Allura rises and recoils in shock. The man is Galran, tall and well built, with lilac skin and white tufts of hair.

For a moment, fear renders Allura speechless. Her heart races. They have found her, somehow - Lotor is here in Olkar - someone betrayed her, and his agent has come to kill her or capture her or drag her back to Oriande in chains. Then Hafidah's hand closes over hers, and Hafidah's steadying voice cuts through her panic.

"Relax! It's alright, Allura. It's alright. You're safe. He's a friend."

"I mean you no harm, your Highness," the Galra man says.

"This is Ulaz," Hafidah goes on. "He's one of my agents. You can trust him."

Allura takes a deep breath and wills herself to calm down. Of course this isn't an enemy agent. That makes no sense. She clears her throat, suddenly embarrassed at her own fear, and sits down on the sofa again.

"Ulaz…" she repeats, the unfamiliar name twisting her tongue. "My apologies. It is good to meet you. Please - be seated."

The Galra agent sits awkwardly in an armchair, perched on the edge of the seat, and Allura drags her eyes away from him to give Hafidah a questioning look.

"Ulaz is one of my private spies," Hafidah explains. "Even my mother doesn't know about him. He's from Marmora. He's been working for me for years."

"I see." Allura turns back to Ulaz. "Marmora is loyal to the Galra Empire, is it not?"

"Our leadership is, certainly," Ulaz says. His voice is lilting and quiet - the voice of someone used to creeping through the shadows, working in secret. "But there are those of us who question that loyalty, and wish for our country's independence from such tyranny. I am part of an organisation called the Hidden Blades. We have long campaigned for Marmoran independence from the Empire, and have been labelled terrorists and dissidents for our troubles."

"That's how I met him," Hafidah adds. "But that's a long story for another time. The point is - Ulaz can get into Altea. He can get into Oriande."

Allura sits back on the sofa, her mind racing. It makes sense. Ulaz is Galran - he can disguise himself as an Imperial soldier, infiltrate the Castle, maybe even the prison where Shiro is being kept… And then what?

"What are you suggesting?" Allura asks breathlessly.

"An extraction." Hafidah smiles grimly. "Ulaz will make his way to Oriande and free Shiro from prison. There's safe houses in the south, near the Marmoran border - Shiro can hide there until the invasion. When we sail south to attack Oriande, he can meet us on the coast."

Allura grips the edge of the couch to hide the fact that her hands are shaking. Ulaz could rescue Shiro. He could smuggle him out of the horrible, terrifying gladiator pits and whisk him away somewhere safe, where he can rest and recover and wait for her return. And they could be reunited before the final invasion begins.

The thought of it knocks Allura breathless. In her nightmares around Shiro's fate, she had envisioned the worst possible outcomes in vivid detail. Shiro chained up in some filthy dungeon, left to waste away and die. Shiro murdered at Lotor's hands, in front of her eyes, as punishment for her rejection of his advances. Lotor torturing Shiro, and Allura having to watch… there are so many terrible scenarios that it is hard to pick which one would be the worst. But if Ulaz can free Shiro from the prisons, then Lotor can't hurt him anymore. Zarkon can't touch him; Haggar can't torture him. The weight of all those worries will be lifted from Allura's heart.

She looks up at Ulaz. "Can you do it?"

He nods, his yellow eyes keen and bright. "It will take me some weeks. I will need to cross the country discreetly, and then scout out the capitol and determine a way to secure your guard's escape. But it can be done."

"Ulaz is one of my best operatives," Hafidah adds. "I trust him with something like this. And my mother doesn't even need to know about it."

"You'd do this for me?" Allura asks. It's risky. Ulaz will have to conceal himself and evade detection as he makes his way across Altea and into the heart of the Galra occupation. All for one man - one soldier out of many. But Hafidah reaches for her hand, and gives her a reassuring smile.

"Of course," she says. "I know how much Shiro means to you. It's dangerous, but Ulaz knows what he's doing, and he's good at sneaking around."

"Alright." Allura nods. "Then I think it's worth a try."

She gets up, and crosses to her office, where she retrieves two small wooden boxes from one of the locked cabinets. She comes back to the drawing room to find Hafidah talking quietly to Ulaz, issuing instructions and guidance on the mission ahead. They both turn as Allura walks in, and she places one of the wooden boxes into Ulaz's hand.

"This is an Ansibilius," she says. "They are very expensive to make, and we only have a few in the Embassy. But it will allow you to send a message to me directly."

She holds up the matching box, and flips open the lid. Inside, a small square of blank parchment sits folded neatly, and the purple velvet lining is embroidered with tiny runes picked out in gold thread.

"You can use the Ansibilius only once," she says. "When you have secured Shiro's release, write me a message on the parchment inside your box. Then close the box, and place a drop of blood onto the seal on the lid." She points out the ring of gold set into the polished wood, that resembles a tiny alchemy circle. "The note will disappear from your box and reappear in mine. Do you understand?"

Ulaz turns the box over in his hand, and nods. "I understand, your Highness. When I have news of your guard's safety, I will send word to you at once."

He tucks the Ansibilius away in a pouch on his belt, and clasps his hands together.

"Do you have a message for him?" Ulaz asks. "Something that could only come from you, so that he will know to trust me."

Allura opens her mouth, and hesitates. There are so many things she wishes she could say to Shiro. _'I love you'_ or _'I'm sorry'_ or _'I will always come back for you'_. But the fear of Ulaz being intercepted holds her back. What if he is captured, or his mission is discovered? She does not have the luxury of writing Shiro some long, detailed love-letter, conveying all her feelings in depth. Nor can she afford to be direct and upfront with her message. She needs something short and secretive instead. Something that will only make sense to Shiro.

She takes a scrap of paper, and writes down a few words.

"Tell him this," she says.

Ulaz takes the note from her hands, and his eyes dart over the message. He nods, and throws the paper into the fire to burn.

"I will tell him," Ulaz says. "And he will know what it means?"

"He'll know," Allura says. "Bring him safely out of Oriande for me, and you will have anything you ask for in return."

Ulaz bows slightly, his hand on his chest.

"On my honour, your Highness," he says.

"You're going to have to be patient," Hafidah says to Allura. "This will take some time to accomplish. But if all goes well, Ulaz can rescue Shiro before the invasion. He'll be safe and out of Lotor's reach."

"It's worth the wait," Allura says. And then she can rest easy, knowing he's no longer suffering in captivity. And maybe they can ride back into Oriande together, side by side. As it should be.

 

Shiro lies awake, and listens to the rain outside the window.

These days, he can't sleep much. Nightmares drag him from his rest long before the guards come around to pummel on the doors and rouse the prisoners from their bunks. In his dreams, he fights monsters in an arena so huge he can't see the top of the stands. Sometimes, the ghostly Black Lion crouches beside him and roars, or stands in the shadows and watches him with glowing golden eyes as he battles strange, grotesque creatures who never tire. He wakes up from such nightmares sweating and breathing hard, his heart racing; when he closes his eyes, images of blood and pain and fear replay in vivid detail in his imagination. It's easier to just stay awake, and listen to the first rainstorms of autumn as they sweep through Oriande.

His hand drops to his abdomen, and his fingers find the scars that Allura left there when she healed him. They are two amongst many now, crowded out by fresher wounds. But he still finds them by instinct, his hand drawn to that one spot where she laid her palms on his skin and gifted him her quintessence to bring him back from the brink of death.

It's been three months. The chill wind that buffets the training yard tells him that the year is turning towards autumn, and the marks on his wall tell him exactly how many days have passed. It's a lot. Three months. He hasn't seen Allura, or heard from her, or spoken to her, in three months. News from Olkar trickles through the Galra blockade, and so Shiro knows - from one of the rebel informants - that Allura made it to Olkarian and that an invasion of some sort is being planned. Which is fine, but… how is she feeling? Is she alright? Does she miss him at all? He has no way of finding out.

The guards march past outside and hammer on the door, and Shiro sighs and gets up. His whole body aches, but that's normal, now. He washes his face and pulls on his boots and sits and waits for the doors to open.

He joins Kinkade and Tavo in the breakfast line as usual, and they wait by the kitchen for their turn to be served. Several prisoners catch Shiro's eye as they walk past, and they raise their fists and double-tap their chests as they go. They do that a lot around him. _Princess Allura's Champion_ still inspires both confidence and defiance. Shiro rallies himself to smile and nod at the other inmates, and to offer the salute back to them in return, and their eyes light up just briefly before they duck their heads to avoid the disapproving glares of the guards.

In the breakfast line, Shiro stands between Kinkade and Tavo, and as they reach the front of the queue he spots one of the resistance informants standing behind the counter. Orin's copper hair stands out in the row of Alteans serving food to the prisoners. The line shuffles them closer, and Orin leans over to put bread on their trays.

"I hear that the drama group will perform in the winter," he murmurs. "Our patrons in the north have requested a riverboat scene." Then he straightens up as if nothing passed between them except a helping of food.

Shiro nods, imperceptibly, and moves on. Everything about the invasion is still discussed in code, whenever the guards are around. He mulls over Orin's message as he takes his seat between Tavo and Kinkade. _'a riverboat scene'_ means the Olkari forces will come from the sea to the south, up the river towards the capitol. And the liberation of Altea is confirmed for the winter.

Shiro sits and eats mechanically, and tries to piece together the likely invasion plan from the coded messages he's received over the months he's been stuck here. Winter seems about right. That's six months from Allura arriving in Olkar - roughly the timescale Shiro had imagined for organising an entire invasion and executing it in secret. He planned for this. Today's message implies that some forces will come via the sea - others are planned to approach over land. When they get here, the resistance in Oriande needs to be ready to leap into action and help out.

But winter is still months away. The day when Allura returns is still so far out of reach.

Today, the rain curtails the gladiators' usual training. They do a few miserable, shivering laps of the courtyard and then traipse back inside to the mess hall, where they do some drills whilst the guards yell at them half-heartedly. Shiro lets his body go through the motions, whilst his mind wanders away to think about nothing. He's too tired to concentrate. These days, he's always too tired.

The drills end, and Shiro flops down on a bench next to Tavo and Kinkade. They pass around a canteen of water in silence. The rain patters against the boarded-up windows, and Shiro imagines the rain room in the west wing, where Allura used to go and watch the weather. The rain always reminds him of Allura, now.

A familiar voice drags him from his thoughts. Ezor stands in the doorway of the mess hall and beckons him over, and Shiro gets up with a sigh. Either this is another pointless meeting with Lotor, or Haggar wants to poke and prod him some more. Neither option holds much appeal. He drags his feet through the hallways, following in Ezor's footsteps until they come out of the front of the barracks. Two of Lotor's personal guards fall into step beside them. A chit-chat with Lotor, then. _Great_.

Ezor says nothing as Shiro follows her through the rain-drenched courtyards of the Castle. She's not in a talkative mood today, it seems. Shiro looks up at the rainclouds, and lets the water trickle down his face without wiping it away. At least the turn in the weather means there will be fewer battles in the arena. When it rains, the Galra occupiers prefer to find their amusement indoors.

They find Lotor sitting on a veranda overlooking a paved courtyard. A group of soldiers spar with wooden weapons in the open space, bare feet slipping on the wet cobbles, and Lotor sits at a table out of the rain and watches them. As Shiro is brought across the yard, the bout ends, and Lotor issues instructions for the next set of soldiers to begin their fight. They are all Galran - all men, too - and most of them are huge and battle-scarred. Perhaps they are candidates for Lotor's personal guard. They certainly look the type.

"Ah, Captain Shiro," Lotor says, as Shiro steps under the cover of the veranda and stands there dripping onto the flagstones. "Wonderful of you to join me."

Shiro scowls at him, and says nothing. Lotor is going to run his mouth - that's how these things usually go. Over the weeks, they've been through this verbal dance numerous times, and Shiro says less and less every time. There's no point talking. Lotor just likes the sound of his own voice.

Ezor pulls a chair out for him, and Shiro takes his seat opposite Lotor. Acxa hovers beside Lotor's shoulder, looking stern as always, and Lotor's third general - Zethrid - stands watching the soldiers in the courtyard. Whatever today's meeting is about, Lotor brought an audience.

"And how are they treating you in the barracks, Shiro?" Lotor goes on. He sips spiced wine from a goblet, and picks at the fruit pieces on the plate in front of him.

"Well, you know," Shiro says. "Still a prison." He eyes the food, and his stomach betrays him with a growl. He's always hungry, these days, and Lotor always lays on a generous lunch spread to tempt him.

"You will be pleased to know I spoke with Princess Allura," Lotor says, and Shiro freezes. Ice pours into his heart and lungs and veins, and he grips the arm of his chair and fights to keep his expression blank and bored. Lotor spoke with Allura. She talked to him. What does it mean? What did they say?

"It turns out she was in Olkar this whole time," Lotor goes on. "Not surprising, really."

Shiro shrugs, as nonchalantly as he can, even as his heart races. "Well, there you are, then. What do you need me for?"

Lotor smiles, but there's nothing pleasant about it. "I did ask her if she wished to speak with you. But she turned me down. Apparently she has nothing to say to you, which I thought was a little inconsiderate. But it's not my place to intervene, I suppose."

Shiro bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood in his mouth. Lotor is just trying to get him to react. Of course Allura would pretend they mean nothing to each other. Hasn't Shiro been doing the exact same thing? There's no reason to expect her to pass him a message via Lotor - to ask after him, or express her concern for his safety. Even if she did, Lotor would lie about it anyway. This is all as it should be.

But it stings. It's stupid and senseless, but Shiro's chest aches and his veins feel like ice, and the thought of Allura airily telling Lotor that her guard means nothing to her cuts him in a way that it shouldn't. It's been so long since he saw her - and Lotor got to speak with her, see her, hear her voice - and she didn't even have one word left over for him?

_No_. He's not going to do this to himself. It's ridiculous. He has to be stronger than this. The nature of their relationship and the manner of their parting mean that Allura can never admit to how much she cares about him - just like Shiro can never let Lotor know the true depth of his feelings for her. Allura was smart and she did the right thing, and Shiro is not going to get upset over it. He's not.

"You must be disappointed," Lotor says.

Shiro forces out another casual shrug. "I never expected her to speak with me. Why would she? I told you. I'm just her guard. We weren't that close."

Lotor sits back in his chair and sips his wine, and his eyes bore into Shiro's like a predator cornering its prey.

"See, I know that's not true," Lotor says. "Allura is an accomplished diplomat, but she's not a great liar. She was unable to conceal the true nature of her position in Olkar, when we spoke. It seems the Olkari were not as forthcoming with their assistance as Princess Allura had hoped? There's no grand liberation on the horizon. No glorious return to Oriande, basking in triumph. She's stuck in Olkar with no help and no support."

Shiro holds his tongue. Somehow, Allura managed to convince Lotor that he doesn't need to worry about an invasion any time soon. Unless there really is no invasion, and the resistance got it all wrong… _no_. No, Allura's coming back. She must be.

"No devastating rebuttal?" Lotor asks. "I thought that was your thing. Telling everyone the Princess will return some day?"

"What do you want me to say?" Shiro shoots back. "You spoke with the Princess, and she's not coming back. You don't need me anymore."

"Oh, I still have some use for you," Lotor says. He sets down his goblet, and looks at Shiro over his steepled fingers. "You see, Allura has no options left. If the Olkari aren't helping her, that means she can't retake Altea by force. Which means that sooner or later, she will take me up on my offer of marriage, and return to Altea to be my bride. Because that's the only way she'll ever regain her throne. And when she does… your suffering will be a powerful incentive to ensure her compliance with my wishes."

A chill creeps over Shiro, like vines crawling over his limbs.

"Whatever happened to letting her have her freedom," he demands, the words ground out through gritted teeth. "All that talk about how well she'd be treated?"

Lotor gives him a nasty grin. "A wife must perform her duties, don't you think?"

Cold fire ignites in Shiro's chest, and he clenches his fist until his nails cut into his flesh. He doesn't need to ask what kind of 'duties' Lotor might have in mind. He can guess easily enough, and the thought of it makes his skin crawl.

"Is she any good in bed?" Lotor asks. "I've often wondered. Peel back those regal layers and I'm sure she's quite wild underneath."

He waves a hand languidly - as if they are having a perfectly normal conversation about the weather. A cloying, sick feeling creeps into Shiro's chest, and there's a roaring in his ears that muffles the sound of Lotor's voice and the clash of sparring weapons in the background. He swore to Allura once that he would never let Lotor touch her, and he stands by that, no matter how many miles now lie between them.

"I'm sure I'll find out eventually," Lotor goes on. "She spread her legs for her guard, after all. She can't really complain if I want to take my fill, too."

It's too much. Maybe it's just talk; maybe Lotor doesn't mean it. But it doesn't matter. The words trigger some all-consuming protective instinct, lodged deep in Shiro's heart, and he reacts without thinking.

He grabs the nearest knife and lunges across the table at Lotor. It's just a small butter knife, but if he can get it at Lotor's throat - if he can stab hard and fast enough - he can make the man bleed, make him pay for his disrespect. He can cut him down, here and now, and then Allura never has to fear his creeping hands or his poisonous words ever again.

He throws himself forward, and the plates and cutlery go flying out of his path and smash on the stone floor; the decanter of wine topples onto the tablecloth, the fruit spills out of its dish and scatters across the ground. Someone yells - and then a blow to the back of his head sends Shiro sprawling across the table before he gets anywhere close to Lotor. A clawed hand grabs the back of his prison tunic and pulls him off the table, and then a knee lands hard in his ribcage and he doubles over, spitting blood, head spinning. _Right_. Lotor's elite guards. That's what they're here for.

Lotor laughs, as if delighted by some joke. Through blurred vision, Shiro watches him get up - infuriatingly calmly - and walk around the table.

"Aaah, there it is," he says. He picks up the knife that Shiro tried to stab him with, and waves it in Shiro's direction. "I knew you cared for her."

Shiro's heart sinks, and he curses himself for his own foolishness. He's spent weeks keeping his composure, giving Lotor the run around… and all for nothing. He coughs up another fleck of blood that lands red and incriminating on the flagstones. Lotor barks some order in Galran, and the two guards that have Shiro by the shoulders haul him to his feet. One of them grabs his hair and yanks his head back, so that he's once more looking at Lotor's gloating face.

"Do you know why I kept you alive, _Gladiator_?" Lotor asks. He grabs Shiro's chin and holds him firm, his clawed fingers digging into Shiro's skin. Shiro meets his gaze - and there's no longer any point in keeping the fury out of his expression. It burns through him like molten metal; anger at Lotor, at the situation - and at himself. He messed up. He played his hand, and now Lotor has the advantage.

"It's because, despite your best efforts to conceal it, I know that you care for Princess Allura. And I know that she cares for you, too." Lotor smiles grimly, and his claws draw pinpricks of blood from Shiro's jaw. "I'm sure she'll agree to all sorts of demands, if it means easing your suffering. So you'll live. You'll survive, at least until Allura returns to Altea as my bride. She'll come back, even if I have to drag her here myself. And when she does, you can watch as I make her mine."

Shiro lunges for him again, driven on by fury and disgust, but the guards hold firm. Lotor chuckles. He lets go of Shiro's chin, and then smacks him hard across the face. Shiro spits blood, and his ears ring, but he drags his gaze back to Lotor's face and looks him in the eyes.

"She'll never be yours," he swears.

"Maybe not willingly," Lotor says. "But I'll have her, one way or the other."

He signals at the guards, and they haul Shiro around by the shoulders and drag him away. As he staggers around, Shiro looks up at the Generals - Lotor's audience, and his most loyal followers. Zethrid stares at the floor. Acxa keeps her eyes front, her face its usual placid mask. But Ezor meets Shiro's gaze, as the guards haul him away, and horror and disgust dance wild in her eyes before she clenches her jaw and looks away. Lotor gives her a nod, and she falls into step with the guards who hold Shiro's shoulders and escort him out of Lotor's presence.

 

The rage simmers inside him as the soldiers push Shiro out of the courtyard and back through the Castle compound. Ezor walks ahead, but she keeps half-glancing back as they draw near to the barracks, and her hands stray from her belt to her sword hilt and back again, over and over, in anxious circuits.

Finally, they reach the steps that lead down to the lower levels of the compound, and Ezor turns and dismisses the guards. They salute and walk off, leaving Shiro alone with Ezor. She scowls at him, and takes him by the arm, her fingers digging into his bicep as she pulls him down the steps. There's a narrow alleyway between some old abandoned storage sheds, and Ezor tugs Shiro into the gap and pushes him up against the wall.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demands. "Why did you have to goad him like that? Are you crazy? He'll kill you!"

"How is this somehow _my_ fault?" Shiro asks. His head hurts and his ribs ache and he just wants to be done with the whole thing. Ezor grabs his arm and pulls him along the alleyway.

"Why can't you just keep your head down and your mouth shut?" she mutters. "Or better yet - help him! Get this whole ugly mess over with!"

"You want me to help him?" Shiro asks, incredulous. He stops, and drags on Ezor's arm, and she halts but doesn't look at him.

"You heard what he said," Shiro goes on. "You know what he'll do to Princess Allura if he gets her back here. And you still think I should help him? Go along with his plans? Play the good little soldier? Like you do?"

"That's not what I'm doing!" Ezor whirls around, fury in her eyes - and then she pushes it down and looks away, to the packed dirt between the sheds and the weeds growing in the alleyway.

"So you agree with this?" Shiro presses on.

"Lotor wouldn't--" she stops. Her eyes dart up to Shiro's and away again, and he can see the wheels turning in her head. A tumult of emotions roils across her features, and she hugs her arms around herself and looks at the ground.

"He would," Shiro says. "He'll force himself on her. You know that, don't you?"

Ezor says nothing. The silence is broken by the patter of the rain and the rumble of distant thunder, and Shiro presses his advantage.

"What if that was you?" he asks quietly. "What if some man wanted to hurt you, and another woman just… helped him. Did nothing."

"What do you want me to do?" Ezor looks up at him, anguish in her eyes, her voice dangerously raised. Then she tugs it all back and looks away again, but a frown creases her brow and her shoulders tense up around her ears. She's conflicted, and it shows.

"I don't know," Shiro says. "But you could stop doing Lotor's dirty work, for one thing."

Ezor stares at him, the emotions warring behind her eyes. Shiro wants to be friends with her. He wants to tell her an invasion is coming, no matter what Lotor thinks, and they can all be free of the Prince's cruelty if they work together. He wants to go back to the days when they could get drunk together and not worry about being on the opposite sides of a war.

But she's still Lotor's general. He can't trust her - not yet. No matter how much he wants to.

Ezor shakes her head, and grabs for his arm again, and hauls him out of the alleyway and back towards the barracks.

"He's the Prince," she hisses. "He's protected me in the past. I can't just… He's doing this for the Empire. For all of us."

"Really?" Shiro asks. "Because it feels more like he's doing this for himself."

Ezor's grip on his arm tightens for an instant, and she pulls him roughly along the path - as if she can't wait to be out of his presence.

"You know I'm right," Shiro mutters. "You know what he is. What he's capable of. You really want to throw in your weight with a monster like that?"

"Shut up!" Ezor snaps. "Stop it! Stop talking!"

She grips his arm so hard that Shiro winces, and he lapses into silence. At the steps of the barracks, Ezor shoves him roughly forward towards the sentries on duty.

"Take him back to his cell," she barks.

Shiro looks over his shoulder just in time to catch her expression: fear and annoyance and anguish churning in her eyes like a maelstrom. Then she turns on her heel and marches away, and leaves Shiro in the rain and the cold.

 

Acxa finds Ezor and Zethrid sitting in one of the private lounges in the nicer part of the military quarters. Zethrid stands by the window, watching the afternoon sun peak out between a rare break in the rainclouds. Ezor sits slumped on one of the sofas, legs hugged to her chest. That's never a good sign.

"The trials went well today," Acxa says. "Lotor is pleased with the candidates."

Zethrid snorts, but she keeps her face stubbornly turned to the window. Ezor gives Acxa a glare, and goes back to staring into nothing.

"What?" Acxa asks, as if she can't guess.

"You know what," Ezor mutters. "How can you talk about Lotor like nothing happened?"

Acxa sighs, and sits down on the sofa in front of Ezor.

"You know Lotor doesn't mean it," she says. "He says a lot of things just to scare people."

"You really think he didn't mean all that?" Zethrid finally turns away from the window, and glares at Acxa with her arms folded over her chest. Oh great. They're _both_ annoyed.

"It's all part of his strategy," Acxa says, but treacherous uncertainty creeps into her voice.

"So you don't think he'd do it?" Ezor demands. "You think he won't touch her? _Hurt_ her?"

Acxa looks between the two of them, and hesitates. What Lotor said about Allura rattled both of them, but Acxa can't believe he'd actually go through with it. Surely not. He's ruthless and cunning and often unpleasant, but what he described in front of Shiro today crossed a line. One that Ezor and Zethrid apparently can't stomach.

"See? You're not sure," Zethrid says. "You don't know!"

"He'd never go through with it," Acxa says, but her voice falters. She knows Lotor better than either of the other generals; she's been by his side longer. And in that time she's seen the nasty streak that runs through him, carefully concealed behind the layers of charm and flattery and superficial good manners. But ever since the conquest of Altea, that mean streak has come out stronger than she's ever seen it.

"Lotor was supposed to be different," Ezor says bitterly. She looks up at Acxa, and tears escape her eyes before she angrily swipes them away.

"He was supposed to be _different_ ," she repeats. "I thought he respected us. _Valued_ us. I trusted him! And it turns out he's just like all the other Galra men I've ever met. Only cares about himself, only out to get what he wants. We should have stayed with Merla, we could have--"

"Keep your voice down," Acxa hisses, and Ezor's rant lapses into sullen silence. Acxa rubs her temple, her mind racing. As much as she hates to admit it, Ezor has a point. They all followed Lotor in the first place because he promised to do things differently - change things in the Empire, make things better for women, for the outcasts, for those who don't fit in - and now… this. She glances up at Zethrid, who shakes her head in disgust and looks away.

"What are you suggesting?" Acxa asks. "We follow Lotor. He's protected all of us, one way or the other."

"It doesn't really feel like protection anymore," Zethrid mutters.

"He scares me," Ezor adds. "And not in a good way. I keep thinking… what if it was me he took a liking to? Or you? Would we get a choice? Or would he just hunt us down and then…"

She trails off, and Acxa flinches away and looks at the fire burning in the grate. Lotor followed Allura all the way across Altea. How much of that obsessive pursuit was for political gain, and how much was driven by a selfish, personal desire? And Acxa helped him, because she thought it was serving the Empire. Lotor was supposed to be _different_. A breath of fresh air. A new face of the Galra - kinder, smarter, more civilised than his father.

She stares at the flickering flames.

"What do you want to do, then?" she asks quietly.

Ezor unfolds slowly, and studies her hands.

"I don't want to work for him anymore," she whispers.

Acxa's head whips around, at the same time as Zethrid curses under her breath and crosses the room in swift strides. She grips the back of the sofa and places a hand on Ezor's shoulder.

"Don't say that in here," she cautions.

"You're talking about treason," Acxa says. "Lotor is our Prince. We can't just… leave. We swore our loyalty to him."

"Well I'm taking it back," Ezor snaps. "I'm not going to work for him anymore. Shiro was right, he's a monster."

Acxa's chest tightens, and she shifts closer to Ezor and puts a finger to her lips. Ezor speaks with Captain Shiro more than any of them; a fact that Acxa carefully concealed from Lotor, for Ezor's own protection. Now, it might come in handy.

"Keep your voice down," she says. "The Champion is still a prisoner. He's not much help to us."

"Then what are we going to do?" Zethrid asks.

"I'll think of something," Acxa says. "I always think of something. Look - whatever happens, we stick together, understand? We're outsiders. If we abandon Lotor, we only have each other. But I'll think of something. I promise."

 

A fresh bout of rain soaks the Castle compound as Acxa hurries from the main building to the Gladiator barracks. Lotor is at dinner; she has an hour at most before he summons her back for some trivial task. She left Ezor with Zethrid. She's still upset, but Zethrid can keep her calm.

She nods to the guards on gate duty at the prison, and lets herself into the overseer's office. Plytox has signed off for the night, and the lamps are dimmed, but Acxa still glances around before she opens the locked cabinet behind his desk and pulls out the wooden box that contains the Champion's prosthetic. If anyone sees her in here, she'll have a hard time explaining it, despite her rank.

The sentries on patrol in the sleeping quarters give her a confused look, and she draws herself up and keeps her voice clipped and calm.

"Queen Haggar needs access to the Champion," she states. "I'm to test a new prosthetic on him."

"Now?" one of the guards asks.

"Queen Haggar works when she pleases," Acxa declares. "It's best not to question her. Unless you feel like being her next experiment?"

"No!" the guard says hastily. "We'll take you to his cell."

Acxa follows them down the corridor, the chest held in both hands and her heart hammering. They reach the door of Captain Shiro's cell, and the guard pulls out a key and turns it in the lock.

"I will need some moments alone with him, to test the device," Acxa says. "Wait here until I am done."

She sweeps past them into the room, and kicks the door closed behind her.

Captain Shiro rises from the bed and frowns at her, his whole body tense. In the dim light of the room, it's hard to make out his features; but the clouds part and the moonlight shines in the window, and Acxa straightens up and takes one reflexive step back. The Captain's eyes bore into her, and his gaze drops to the wooden chest, and his frown deepens. He's scrawnier than he was when he first arrived - malnourished from months in prison - but Acxa has seen first-hand how dangerous he can be.

There's a huge bruise on the side of his face, in the shape of Lotor's hand. Acxa swallows, and holds up a finger to her lips, signalling him to stay silent. The Champion watches her warily, like a cornered animal waiting to strike.

"The Queen has a new prosthetic for you to try," Acxa says, loud enough that the words will carry through the door to the guards outside. She only has a few minutes before they get suspicious.

Captain Shiro tilts his head at her, but the frown remains on his features. Acxa meets his gaze, and turns the chest towards him. The box has three combination locks - golden dials carved with runes and symbols - and up until now she has always been careful to conceal them from the prisoner. But not tonight. She pointedly looks down at the mechanisms, and Captain Shiro follows her gaze. She shows him how to open them, one by one, and his eyes go wide. The chest clicks open, and he looks back up at her, the frown now more confused than ever.

"Sit on the bunk," she instructs, her voice once again raised for the benefit of the sentries. The Captain obeys her, and she picks up the prosthetic from its box - letting the metal clink and move as she does so.

She crosses the room and stands in front of Captain Shiro. Wordlessly, she turns the prosthetic over and shows him the inside of the socket that attaches to the stump of his arm. A pulsing purple crystal rests just inside the rim, and Acxa reaches in and twists it until it comes out with a click. She holds it up in front of the Champion's eyes, and then places it carefully on the windowsill, out of the way. Captain Shiro offers his stump, and she slips the prosthetic into place. His eyes follow her all the while - watching, assessing, trying to guess what this is about. He can tell this is his regular prosthetic, and that this is not a regular visit.

"Let me see you move it," Acxa says, and he complies by flexing the fingers and moving the arm up and down. The mechanical sounds of the prosthetic in motion fill the silence of the room like a concealing blanket.

"What's going on?" the Champion demands. He keeps his voice to a whisper, but it cuts like knives.

"That gem is the crystal that allows Haggar to override your arm," Acxa explains, pointing at the stone on the windowsill, glinting in the moonlight. "Once you remove it, the arm is fully under your control. She can't manipulate it anymore."

She speaks low and steady, hiding her words beneath the sounds of the Captain's prosthetic whirring. He keeps moving the arm up and down, up and down, but his eyes go wide and Acxa can see the wheels turning within. She takes a deep breath, and pulls two keys from her pocket.

"This one unlocks the cells," she says, holding up the smaller of the two. "And this one will open the main doors."

"You're letting me out?" the Captain asks.

"Not yet," Acxa murmurs. "When the time is right, use the keys to free yourself and the other prisoners. Your prosthetic is stored in the overseer's office in a cabinet behind his desk. Remove the crystal, as I showed you, and the weapon is yours. You will need it, when the time comes."

Captain Shiro scowls at her. He stands up; and he is taller than her, just enough that he can loom over her, his face painted in angular shadows. Fire and fury burn in his eyes.

" _What_ time?" he asks.

Acxa swallows, and clenches her trembling hands. "Now light up the arm," she says, loudly and distinctly. "Let me see the weapon, gladiator."

Captain Shiro gives her a dirty look, but he powers up the prosthetic. The hum of quintessence fills the room, along with the lurid purple light of the hand's eerie glow. The Champion stands there and looks down at her, his weapon ready to cut her in half if he chooses. Acxa takes a deep breath. This is it - this is the line that cannot be uncrossed, the point of no return. Everything she has done thus far can be undone or waved away - but this is treason. This is the betrayal.

"Lotor plans to kill his father," she says.

Captain Shiro's eyes widen, and the frown gives way to an expression of utter shock. He takes a step closer to Acxa, his whole body tense and alert.

"When?" he demands.

"At the midwinter feasts. I don't know the exact day. But the Emperor's top generals and closest allies will all be in Oriande for the winter celebrations. Lotor plans to strike then. He will take out his father, and all his commanders, and claim the Galran throne."

Captain Shiro steps back, and looks towards the window, drowning in thoughts that pull his features into a scowl.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks.

"Power it down," Acxa commands, as her mind races to string together an explanation he will understand and accept. The light goes out of the Captain's arm, and they stand eye to eye in the darkness.

"Now power it up again, let me see it one more time."

He obeys, without breaking eye contact, and the purple glow sends wild shadows dancing over his face. Acxa prays to every deity she can remember that all of this sounds like a routine visit, to the guards outside; that the noise from the arm is enough to conceal what she's really communicating.

"On the day when Lotor strikes, the army will be in disarray," Acxa murmurs, underneath the hum of quintessence in the prosthetic. "Some will follow Lotor, but others will not. The Castle will be vulnerable. In-fighting will break out, as the Galra commanders scuffle for power. On that day, you will stage a jailbreak. In the commotion… accidents may happen."

The Champion narrows his eyes. "I'm your diversion. You're going to kill Lotor yourself."

Acxa clenches her fists. He's a soldier. Of course he's a step ahead of her. She tilts up her chin and keeps her voice even.

"You need not concern yourself with that. Break out. Attack the guards. Make a run for the gates. I will ensure that they're open for you."

"And cause as much disruption on the way out as we can, I take it?"

"Your Princess isn't coming for you," Acxa goes on. "There will be no liberation of Oriande. If you want to run, this is your chance. I'm just giving you options."

Captain Shiro powers down the arm, and silence once more descends on the room. He watches her carefully, his face set like stone - unreadable and unforgiving.

"Why should I trust you?" he asks, his voice barely audible.

"I'm here, in your room. I've just handed you a weapon that can kill me instantly. I'm trusting you. Whether you trust me in return is up to you."

"You're using me."

"Of course I am. But I'm also giving you the chance to seize your freedom. When you find Princess Allura, tell her that the Galra throne has passed to someone who is willing to treat with her, as equals."

"And who exactly might that be?" The Captain raises an eyebrow at her sceptically.

"Just do your part, and don't concern yourself with mine." Acxa reaches for his arm, and tugs off the prosthetic, making him wince. She stows it back in its box, along with the crystal from the windowsill, and shuts the lid.

"If you try to escape before Lotor makes his move, you won't get far," she cautions. "So just… keep your head down, behave, and wait until the time is right. When you see Lotor's banners flying on the Castle Keep, you will know that Zarkon has fallen, and Lotor has taken his place."

She turns back to Captain Shiro, and meets his gaze. He watches her warily, still unsure, but he nods nevertheless.

"Very well, gladiator," Acxa says loudly. "Dismissed."

She gives Captain Shiro one final nod, and raps on the door, and the sentries let her out of the room and lock it behind her.

 

_It is one of those dreams where Allura knows that she's dreaming, and yet it feels so real she can almost taste it. She is back at the inn in Naxum - in the attic room under the eaves - bathed in the golden glow of the lamps. Everything is light and soft, and the fire crackles gently in the hearth, and there is no hardship here. No struggle. Only warmth and peace._

_It felt like this even when she stayed here with Shiro. For three days, they had this peaceful haven, hidden away, safe and sound. For three days, they had each other._

_In the dream, the windows look out over the sloping lawns of the Castle, and the rain falls in a gentle patter against the glass. This dream version of the attic has the same view as the rain room back in Oriande, where Allura used to sit and watch the summer storms pour down on the lawns. Outside, in the waking world, the days are cold and dreary; but here, the rain is gentle, and the room is warm and welcoming._

_"Allura."_

_His voice makes her turn. Shiro lies on the bed, eyes half closed, as if he is just waking up from peaceful slumber. He looks just how he did when they stayed here - how he looks in all her dreams and memories of him._

_"I'm here,_ marksglow _," she says._

_She crosses the room to the bed, where it stands against the far wall, covered in pillows and throws and blankets. Her skirt brushes the wooden floor - she wears a long white dress, something from Oriande that she always adored, because it made her look pretty. She dreamed it up for herself. Shiro is here - her beloved, her_ marksglow _\- and she wants to look beautiful for him, even though he would call her lovely no matter what she wore._

_She lies on the bed beside him, and he gazes up at her as she brushes the strands of hair from his forehead. She looks like starlight incarnate - her marks faintly glowing on her cheeks, her hair a cloud of silvery white around her head. She leans over him, and the scent of her perfume wafts around him, and all he wants to do is lie here in this perfect moment forever, and never wake up._

_"This is a dream," he whispers._

_She smiles, and kisses him softly on the lips. "Then it is a good dream."_

_He tastes so real and warm, and Allura presses her lips to his again, and he slides a hand into her hair and holds her; deepens the kiss until their tongues collide. When he pulls away, tears shimmer in his eyes, and his marks glow white._

_"I miss you,_ amwen _," he breathes._

_Allura strokes his cheek, and brushes the shining crescents with her thumb. Even here, in the dream, she feels his quintessence under her hands._

_"I'm so sorry,_ marksglow _," she whispers. "We'll see each other soon, I promise."_

_"It's alright,_ Hime-sama _," he says. "Just forget me. You'll be happier without me."_

_"Don't say that, Takashi," she chides him. "Of course I won't. I love you."_

_Her soft smile cuts through some of the gloom in his heart, like a ray of sunshine through clouds. He tucks her hair behind her ear and gazes up at her, drinking in the sight of her, radiant in her loveliness._

_"You always say that in my dreams," he murmurs._

_"Well it's true." She strokes his cheek again, her fingers light and gentle, and he leans into the touch. "I love you, Takashi. And I'll come back for you. I swear it."_

_"I'm so tired," he whispers._

_She senses the truth of it, in his energy, and the weary look in his eyes. How much is he suffering, in that prison far away? How much has he already endured?_

_"Then rest," she says. She kisses his lips - his cheeks - and runs her hand through his hair. "I'm always with you, my love."_

_Tears escape him, despite his efforts to hold them back. Her touch is so gentle and her gaze is so sweet and tender, and when the dream ends there will be nothing but pain and hardship._

_"You'll be gone when I wake up," he whispers. "You're always gone."_

_"But my heart is with you." Her tears drop onto his cheeks, and she wipes them away with her thumb. She lies down on his chest and holds him, feeling his heartbeat beneath her, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair._

_"Rest," she whispers, and he holds her close and breathes her in, and tries to memorise the feel of her to carry with him when he wakes. The firelight bathes the room in golden warmth, and they cling to each other as the dream fades away to nothing but soft light._

 

Shiro wakes up shivering, in the darkness of his cell. His breath mists in front of him. The nights are cold, now; the mornings are frosty. The guards do not let them have fires in their rooms overnight.

Something's wrong.

Shiro sits up, his heart racing, and scans the room. He woke up because something's off - months of fighting for his life have made him extra vigilant, even in his sleep. His eyes dart across the shadows until he catches movement in the corner.

Someone is in his room.

"Who's there?" he hisses. A guard, come to mess with him? Acxa, with more cryptic messages? The figure steps forward: tall, muscular, top-heavy with a waspish waist. A Galran, then. Shiro flattens himself against the wall, breathing hard. The crescent moon hangs outside the window - it must be well past midnight, into the third watch of the night. Too late for guards, surely.

"Who are you?" he demands.

"Keep your voice down," the stranger commands. They step out of the shadow, into the faint light cast by the moon, and pull down their hood. A Galran male stands by Shiro's bed - lilac skin, white hair - his hands held up placatingly. Shiro subsides, and watches him warily.

"My name is Ulaz," the stranger says. "We do not have much time. I was sent by Princess Allura."

Shiro's heart stops. Remnants of his dream come back to him in fragments: Allura in his arms, her hands so gentle on his face as she kissed him. Was it a sign? A message from the Goddess?

"How can I trust you?" he asks. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"Princess Allura said to tell you, that if she could go back to the caves under the mountains, she would forget all about alchemy, and stay with you behind the bookshelves, and see what happened next."

Shiro stares at the man in shock, and blinks back tears. Only Allura knew about their little excursion in the dwarven caves; only Allura knew the real reason they were sneaking around that night. No one else - no living soul - knows that he pulled her behind a bookcase and almost kissed her. Which means that this stranger - Ulaz - must be a messenger from Allura herself. It's the only way he could know such a detail.

"Why are you here?" he chokes out. "Why did she send you?"

He stands up from the bed so he can get a better look at Ulaz. The man stands a head taller than him, and his features are shrouded in the gloom of the cell. He stands perfectly still and quiet - a spy, perhaps, used to sneaking around in the dark.

"I am to secure your escape from Oriande," Ulaz says. "Princess Allura sent me here to free you. I will take you to a safe house near the Marmoran border. The plan is in place. We must leave immediately. Everything is prepared."

Shiro sags onto the edge of the bed. It is suddenly hard to breathe, and the room feels too small and cramped. He can leave. Right now. He can sneak out with Ulaz and escape - it doesn't matter how - and flee to the safety of some hideout somewhere. And then maybe he can contact Allura, send her a message, find out how she's feeling… All he has to do is go with Ulaz. He can give the keys to Tavo or Kinkade - just find their cell on the way out, hand them the keys Acxa left with him and explain that he's leaving… he'll need to give them instructions to pass on to the resistance, but they can do that, surely… Surely he can take this opportunity to escape.

It's not selfish. Not after everything.

His vision blurs. His heart turns to stone; his knuckles turn white where he grips the bedframe.

Because he can't go. Allura sent a spy all the way here to free him… but he can't leave. Not now. Not like this.

"I can't go with you," he says. He looks up into Ulaz's confused expression.

"I don't understand," the man says. "We have little time for this. We must go at once."

"I can't," Shiro repeats. Because everyone looks up to him - the prisoners, the resistance fighters, the soldiers around the Castle. They look to him for inspiration and leadership. He can't just vanish. This is not like a gladiator battle, where he faces death in front of the crowds. If he dies in the arena, he'll die a martyr. His death would become a rallying cry for the Alteans, which is probably why Lotor hasn't let it happen yet.

But this is completely different. He can't disappear in the middle of the night, spirited away like a ghost. He can't _run away_. The Alteans need a leader - a figurehead. Allura taught him that, as they wandered the wilds together, and he saw just how inspiring she was and just how much people needed someone like her, to look up to in their darkest times. _Princess Allura's Champion_ cannot vanish into the night, leaving a hole in his wake. The resistance still needs guidance and the prisoners still need their morale boosting, now more than ever.

But it's more than that. It's been weeks since Acxa visited his cell, and he still hasn't managed to tell anyone the full story of what she said, or her plans. They spend so much time indoors now, and the guards watch the prisoners every hour that they're out of their cells. Shiro explained the basics of her message to Tavo and Kinkade - that the time to strike is midwinter, that he has keys to unlock the cells - but the details are too dangerous to discuss when sentries are around. They barely get let out into the yard anymore, so Shiro never had the opportunity to duck behind the shed and hammer out all the specifics with an informant from the rebellion. He's still the only Altean in Oriande who knows everything that Lotor is planning. Which means he has to be here when it all goes down.

"I need to stay here," Shiro explains, as best he can. Ulaz's ears twitch, but he says nothing.

"The resistance needs a leader," Shiro goes on. "There's too many moving parts. And something's going to happen at the midwinter feast. I need to be here. These people look up to me. I need to lead them all."

"What will happen at midwinter?" Ulaz asks.

"A coup," Shiro says shortly. "Do you know when the Princess will return? When is the invasion planned? The precise date?"

"Only that it is planned for the winter," Ulaz says. "The arrangements are almost in place. But this coup…"

Shiro nods. His mind reels, and he reins in his racing thoughts and tries to focus. He can't possibly escape with Ulaz, but that doesn't mean the man's journey here was wasted. His presence represents an unexpected lifeline. So let's see. What would Allura do?

"Did Allura give you a way to contact her?" Shiro asks. "Some kind of device? A way to send a message?"

Ulaz nods, and pulls out a small box from his pocket. "This is an Ansibilius. She instructed me to use it once you were freed, to tell her that you are safe. It can be used only once, to send a written message."

Shiro scrubs his face, and thinks. _Think_. He gets up from the bed and paces the room, shivering in the cold, his breath making clouds in front of him as he tries to get his head straight. _Focus_. He has the means to tell Allura exactly what will happen.

"Alright," he says. "Then tell her this. Lotor plans to kill his father, at the midwinter feast. He will stage a coup, take out Zarkon and his top allies, and claim the Imperial throne. That's the day when she must invade. The army will be divided and vulnerable. Different factions will be out for power and the Galra will be fighting amongst themselves. Allura has to invade on that day, when they're at their weakest."

Ulaz takes it all in in silence. He opens the box and unfolds the parchment from inside, and takes a charcoal pencil from his pocket.

"How will they know the precise day?" he asks.

"Lotor's banner will hang from the Castle Keep," Shiro says. "That's the signal."

"And how am I to explain why you are still in prison?" Ulaz goes on. "I promised the Princess I would bring you to safety. She will not be pleased."

Shiro's chest tightens. She won't be. Actually, she'll probably be devastated, and he really ought to stop making her cry one of these days… but it can't be helped. This is where she needs him - here, in the capitol, leading the uprising from within even as she brings an army from outside to liberate the kingdom. He has the means to escape his cell and free the other prisoners, and Lotor won't let him die any time soon… he's relatively safe. Miserable, but safe.

"Tell her that the resistance needs a leader, and they look up to me. Tell her… I'll be here waiting for her."

Ulaz gives him a long, unreadable look, and then nods. He places the parchment on the table and bends over to write the message in a neat, flowing hand. Shiro stands there and watches the words fill up the page as Ulaz condenses their entire conversation into a simple letter. Finally, it is done.

"There is some space left on the parchment," Ulaz informs him. "Enough to write one line. Do you wish to send a personal message?"

Shiro chews his lip. He still can't write well with his left hand, which means Ulaz will have to transcribe whatever message he sends. And one single line on a small piece of parchment is not enough to tell Allura everything he wants to say to her. There's so much he needs to explain, and apologise for; but there's no time for it, and no space in the letter for more than a few words. What can he say? How can he boil down everything he feels and hopes and wants into a single line?

He shakes his head. No words will be enough. Still. There is something he can say.

"Write this," he murmurs. He gives the message to Ulaz, and the man nods and transcribes it, word for word. If he finds the contents odd, he doesn't show it. He folds up the parchment and seals it in the box, and then pricks his finger and places a drop of blood onto the lid. The marks on the wood glimmer slightly in the gloom and then fade. The message is sent.

"Are you sure of this?" Ulaz asks. "You can still come with me. It is not too late."

Shiro nods. "I'm sure. This is the only way. Besides - midwinter isn't far off."

Ulaz tilts his head at him, and Shiro forces a grim smile. In truth, it's still weeks away, but Shiro will just have to wait it out. This is where Allura needs him the most.

"What will you do now?" he asks Ulaz.

"I will carry the news of Lotor's plans to the Marmoran border," he says. "I know there are some in my homeland who despise the Galra Empire, and will support Princess Allura's return to Altea. And there are forces gathering in secret, who must be told this news also."

Shiro nods, and holds out a hand. Ulaz grasps his entire forearm, and spares him a brief, warm smile. Then he fades back into the shadows; the cell door creaks, and Ulaz disappears into the gloom.

Shiro stares at the darkness for a long time. He sinks to the floor and leans against the bed, and rubs his face with his hand. There's no point trying to sleep now. Anxiety will just keep him awake. Fragments of dream come back to him, and he sits on the floor and shivers, and wishes he wasn't quite so alone.

 

The wind blows in off the sea, bringing the smell of the salt and the icy chill of the open oceans. The Surmese Isles in winter weather storms that drive choppy waves high against the cliffs, but the sheltered inlets provide some respite from the elements. On the island of Koryo, Allura sits on the balcony of the ancient royal palace, watching the sun rise behind the dark clouds that rumble on the horizon. She shivers, and wraps her cloak around her. Winter is almost here, and with plans for the invasion reaching their final, vital stages, Allura and her entourage are finally on the move, making their way south.

The Surmese Isles - a loose collection of semi-independent island kingdoms - are valuable allies in the planned liberation of Altea. Not only have they lent their armies to aid in the war effort - the kingdom of Koryo is currently sheltering Allura as she prepares for the next stage of her journey. In the inlet below the royal palace, a fleet of ships gathers in the shallow waters; skyboats hang in the air, tethered to the cliffs, creaking in the wind.

"You should come inside, your highness," Mizrin says. Allura turns to see her standing in the doorway, shivering in the cold. She nods, and follows her into the drawing room of the guest suite. The palace complex in Koryo is made up of many single-storey _hanoks,_ laid out between gardens and interconnected by paths that wind up the steep hillside. This particular villa - one of the largest and grandest - has been given over to Allura as her base of operations during her stay.

In theory, these are her private quarters; in practice, as the war planning reaches a fever pitch, the drawing room is a hive of activity - even this early in the morning. Hafidah is always here, issuing instructions to the clerks and secretaries, and the generals come and go with messages and updates on troop numbers and logistics.

Mizrin came with her from Olkar - she is too valuable to be left behind, and manages to keep the never-ending flow of people in order. These days, she is accompanied by Lona, who serves as both assistant and apprentice. Several other familiar faces from Olkarian also come and go: General Brina, who has taken charge of the naval fleet; and Mishtalia, who is loyal to both Allura and Altea and therefore insisted on coming along.

Hafidah looks up from a pile of maps, and gives Allura a cheeky grin.

"How's the fleet?" she asks cheerfully. "Everything still there?"

"Please take this seriously." Allura sits down, and Mizrin passes her a mug of tea. The balcony is far too cold, but inside the living suite the stone floors are heated by fires below the flagstones, and Allura kicks off her slippers so she can soak up the delightful warmth. Over the two weeks they have stayed here, the wooden beams and neat white walls have taken on a homely familiarity. But they will be leaving soon - moving on to the next stop on their careful quest towards the southern seas - and Altea.

Hafidah sits up, and puts the maps in front of Allura. She begins a detailed explanation of how the fleet will move discreetly out of Koryo, and where they will stop along the way around the coast, and Allura sips her tea and tries to concentrate. But before Hafidah can really get into it, Lona taps her gently on the shoulder, and Allura looks up, grateful for any distraction.

"I'm sorry to disturb your highnesses," she says. "But the box in your room is glowing. You said you wanted to know straight away…"

Allura straightens up so fast that her tea slops out of the mug, and Hafidah curses and pulls the maps away. Allura ignores her. The Ansibilius. It activated. She has a message from Ulaz - at last, after weeks of waiting and wondering. Anxiety squeezes her chest like a vice, and she barely registers Hafidah taking the mug out of her hands.

"Go on," she says. "Go and read your message."

Allura crosses to the bedroom, limbs shaking, and slides the door shut behind her. Here, at least, the room is empty of people. The Ansibilius box sits on the nightstand, glowing faintly, and Allura flips open the lid and unfolds the parchment with shaking hands. It is covered in neat black lines of text, and Allura sits on the bed in the early morning sunlight and reads it.

_I have located Shiro. He is alive, and not in immediate danger. However, he will not leave Oriande. There is too much at stake._

Allura covers her mouth with her hand. What could be at stake? What could possess him to stay there? She reads on, skipping words in her haste, trying to make sense of it.

_He has uncovered a coup d'état. Lotor intends to murder his father at the midwinter feast. Lotor's banner will fly over the keep once the deed is done. The betrayal will cause much instability, and the army will be weak. This is the time to strike and take back Altea._

_Shiro has means to free the prisoners and overthrow the guards from within. The Alteans here need a leader, and they follow him without question. Therefore he has chosen to stay, and meet you in the capitol on the day of the invasion._

Allura folds over the paper and stares at the wall, and fights back tears. It's too much to take in - a betrayal, a weak spot - and Shiro is somehow a leader? Even within the prison? She can well believe it, but… he is staying in Oriande. He _chose_ to stay there. For her - for the invasion effort.

During their journey together, he reminded her often that it was his sworn duty to protect her no matter what. That his life didn't matter - not compared to hers. At every turn, he was ready to sacrifice himself to ensure her survival. So she ought to have known that he would never leave Oriande as long as he's still needed there. Of course he won't run away from the fight.

But she wanted him to be _safe_. Her heart cannot rest until he's free. Now there is longer to wait, because he thinks he has to stay and be a hero, and she can't even be angry about it because he's doing this for her - for the kingdom and its people. He's in prison, fighting for his life in the cruel gladiator games, and he's still doing everything in his power to help her.

The door slides open, and Hafidah steps in.

"So? What's the news?" she asks.

Allura wordlessly holds the letter out to her. She doesn't trust her voice enough to try and speak. Hafidah sits beside her and takes the letter, and scans over the contents.

"Allura, this is it," she breathes. "This is incredible. This tells us exactly when the capitol will be weakest. If there's a coup, the army will be divided… half of Zarkon's commanders will be gone! Do you know what this means?"

"He's still in prison," Allura whispers. "He didn't escape with Ulaz."

Hafidah subsides, and takes Allura's hand.

"I know," she says. "But… he's safe for now. And well enough to be planning prisoner uprisings. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I suppose. I just…" She wanted to hear that he was free, and hidden away somewhere safe, waiting to join up with the fleet when they arrived in the south. She shakes her head. Why does Shiro have to be so noble? Why did she have to fall for a man with so much honour and integrity?

"Can I have the letter back?" she asks. "I didn't even finish reading it." In her confusion, she skimmed most of it and never read the final few lines. Hafidah passes the parchment back to her, and then gets up to pace the room and mutter about the invasion and how their plans will change because of this news. Allura sits and reads the letter all the way through again, more carefully this time.

It all makes good sense. She can't fault Shiro's reasoning for staying behind. The Alteans left in the capitol must be weary and terrified by now - they will need a leader, and Shiro inspires courage and confidence wherever he goes. And if he somehow has means to escape then at least he is not helplessly trapped. That's some slim hope to cling on to.

She reaches the end. There's one final paragraph that she completely skipped over before, squeezed into the space at the bottom of the page. She reads it, and her heart stops.

_Shiro sends this message: "I still dream of you,_ marksglow _."_

The tears come before she can stop them, and the page blurs in front of her. She dreams of him, too - peaceful dreams where the rain patters softly on the windows of an attic room in Naxum, and all is right with the world. Does he dream the same thing?

The pain of separation drags through her heart like claws. She misses Shiro so much she can barely breathe. It has been weeks - months - since she heard his voice or saw him smile or held his hand, and still she is not used to his absence. Still, she glances around to find him whenever she enters a room. She rolls over in the middle of the night and reaches for him, half-asleep, and finds only an empty bed.

Their souls are bound together, somehow. It is the only way she knows how to make sense of it. Does that mean the Goddess will protect him? Or does it mean they are fated to love each other only for the briefest of times, and then to be parted forever?

Hafidah ceases her pacing around the room and sits back down on the bed, and wraps an arm around Allura's shoulders.

"He's a good man," she says. "He gave us the information we need to actually win this war."

"I know," Allura whispers.

"And I'm sure Lotor is keeping him alive, for some twisted reason," Hafidah goes on. "He doesn't seem to be in immediate danger. He'll be waiting for us in Oriande when we get there."

"I know. I just miss him so much."

Hafidah draws her into a hug and holds her as she cries, and Allura stares at the parchment in front of her - at the handful of words, squeezed into the end of the letter, blurred by her tears. 'I still dream of you, _marksglow_ '. Shiro is alive, and thinking of her. He's alive, and doing everything he can to help her. But her heart still aches; the pain so deep and devastating it is almost physical.

"I want him back, Hafi," she says. "I just want to see him again."

"You will," Hafidah reassures her. "I swear it. We're going to march back into Oriande, and free the country, and then you're going to see him and run towards him and throw yourself into his arms. Very dramatically. I promise."

Allura laughs, in spite of her tears. Hafidah is right. Allura trusts in the Goddess's wisdom, and in Her divine plans. She will see Shiro again. And when she does, she won't let him go. Not for anything or anyone. Not for as long as she lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i clearly borrowed some inspiration from Aragorn and Arwen for this chapter. it's shallura culture. i won't apologise.
> 
> we are now coming to the final act of the story. up next: the invasion! drama! fight scenes! the next couple of chapters (ch 22-23) are gonna be some real big hitters, so i hope everyone's ready to cry some more.
> 
> on a personal note, i actually cannot believe how close i am to getting this story finished. like. for real. finished. with a climax and conclusion and everything. it's wild. come this Friday, this fic is officially a year old, and as of this update, it's officially over 200k. that just blows my mind. thank you so much to everyone who has come along for the ride from beginning to end; to everyone who has commented on each chapter and patiently waited for updates. you have all kept me going, and helped me get this far. i can't wait to share the ending of this story with you all as well <3


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